


Open Water

by biscuits_and_whiskey



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: A teaspoon of comfort in like a pool of hurt, Alec Hardy Whump, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dunking, F/M, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, Major Character Injury, Mutilation, Mutual Pining, Our detectives need a hug, Post-Canon, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Self-Worth Issues, Tags May Change, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 74,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biscuits_and_whiskey/pseuds/biscuits_and_whiskey
Summary: Post-S3For Ellie Miller, life can only be normal for so long. When a figure from her past reappears and takes D.I. Hardy, Ellie struggles dealing with fears both past and present.D.I. Hardy, meanwhile, struggles to survive when his fear is leveraged against him.
Relationships: Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller
Comments: 414
Kudos: 561





	1. Chapter 1

It was over. Another was finally drawing to an end.

  
Ellie was a fright of messy, curled hair and bags beneath her eyes as she strode through the office. In her hands were a set of tapes, labeled in chicken-scratch.

It felt like Broadchurch had gotten on a rollercoaster that never ended.

Ever since Danny’s murder, the town seemed to attract trouble. First with Trish Winterman’s case, and now a slew of smaller but no less distressing crimes ranging from armed burglary to assault with intent to kill. The tapes contained a confession relating to the latter.

That particular case had exhausted all of Ellie and Hardy’s energy for the last month. Endless days and nights spent awake as the two poured over evidence and hypothesized leads and motives. Countless hours spent interviewing witnesses and suspects of varying quality. Countless hours spent, after they determined their perpetrator, wearing his protective guard until he finally cracked and confessed, tears and all.

  
But it was over. Ellie knew it as she stopped in her tracks and her knuckles rapped against the office door.

“Door’s unlocked.” Answered Hardy.

At least in this town swept by change, Ellie knew this wouldn’t.

She entered an office overrun by papers and decorated by both generic seascape paintings and corkboards covered in notes long forgotten. The desk was inhabited, as it near always was, by a very worn out and very stern Alec Hardy.

He hadn’t looked up when Ellie entered, but he did when she dangled the baggie containing the tapes.

“Got it.” She said with a weary smirk.

“He cracked?” asked Hardy expectantly.

“Wear anything down enough and they’ll spill the beans.” She said proudly as she dropped the tapes on his desk. “Got him to beg forgiveness and everything.”

Hardy’s gaze darted to the bag then back to her. He nodded and looked rather pleased.  
“Outstanding work, Miller. Glad you could handle that alone.” He noted.

“Thought this would be too much for me? Wow, glad you believe in me after all these years.”

“Oi, we knew this suspect could be dangerous. I was worried for your safety, Miller!” Hardy protested.

“Course sir, I was just teasing you.” Ellie smirked as she fell back against his couch.  
She sighed.  
“God, I’m knackered.” She mumbled. “I could sleep for a month.”

“Same here.” Hardy agreed as he brushed his hair from his face.

“Be nice to get home. Wonder what hell Tom and Freddie raised with me gone so much.” She said as she slung herself across the cushions.

“Your sister watched them the whole month?”

“Her and Beth, they’d trade off.” Ellie explained. “I owe them both _big time_ now.”

“Probably do.” Agreed Hardy absently as he tapped away on his computer.

“Gee, thanks for the consolation. Nice support there.” She rolled her eyes.

“What I do best.” Hardy said, so dryly it almost seemed sincere.

Ellie could punch the man at times, but these moments were one of the closest she had to normalcy during these trying times. She did appreciate them.

But still she could punch him, especially with his grumpy, dry demeanor. Perhaps one day she would.

Hardy clicked at something then sank back in his chair. He sighed loudly and ran a hand down his face.

“Least we have him in custody. On the home stretch now.” She said.

“Plenty of paperwork to do, first.” Noted Hardy.

“Don’t make me think of that now.” Groaned Ellie. “Let’s think of something else, something less stressful.”

Hardy glanced up thoughtfully and bit the inside of his cheek. He sat upright once more.  
“Is dinner at your place or mine tonight?” He asked.

Ellie groaned and slapped a pillow into her face.  
“I said something _less_ stressful, Hardy.” She mumbled.

Hardy smirked, unseen by Ellie.  
“Guess that means yours.”

“I could barely make pasta right now without setting the house on fire.” She groaned. “And salad might count as dinner for you, but the rest of us need more than rabbit food.”

“We could go out instead.” Suggested Hardy.

“Where? Not many places in town we could drag a group our size on short notice, unless you’re fine with fish and chips.”

“ _Not_ , not the whole group.” Hardy added quickly.

Ellie paused. The pillow slowly slipped off her face. She sat up and scrutinized Hardy, as if she didn’t hear him right.

Hardy, for his part, near sweated under the proverbial spotlight. His hands were laced together and his whole posture was stiff. His lips were drawn into a thin line as he stared at his hands.

“You mean,” Ellie started. “like just you and me? Alone?”

Hardy sucked in a sharp breath through braced teeth.  
“Maybe.” He said.

Ellie blinked.

He looked up at her and started to scramble. She’d never seen him so flustered.

“Not, not anything fancy. I mean…Daisy mentioned a pub nearby. Apparently modern and ‘hip’.” He stammered.

“Right, because us two fit the definition of ‘hip’.” Ellie rolled her eyes.

“Has good fish and chips.” Said Hardy. “And good dessert, she said.”

“Seems you aren’t just saving me from cooking tonight.” Ellie teased.

Hardy shrugged and averted his gaze.  
“It’s…good night to celebrate. Case about to close.”

“We never celebrate. Not something we do.”

“ _Miller_ ,” sighed Hardy as his gaze returned to her. “I know we don’t but might be a nice change. Do you want to go or not, because otherwise I’ll leave you to your burnt pasta and Daisy and I can go do something else.”

Ellie sat back, her arms folded across her chest. She looked at Hardy’s tired gaze and wondered if it mirrored hers.

He might be right. When had she just gone out for drinks? For a nice dinner or a fun night out?

“ _With Claire Ripley._ ” She internally shuddered, and boy how she hated realizing that.

At the least, she could wipe away that as her ‘most current fun night out’.

“I’d like a shower first. Freshen up. Need to make sure someone watches over Freddie too.”

“Course.” Said Hardy. “I can pick you up, around six.”

“Wow, fancy.” Ellie smirked. “Are you covering the bill too?”

“Don’t push it, Miller.” Said Hardy as he picked up the baggie. “Go transcribe these tapes, get them finished before you head out.”

“What??” protested Ellie as she caught it. “I just got out of interrogation!”

“And you have the freshest memory, so you’d be best to transcribe it. Ta.” Said Hardy as he turned himself back to his work.

  
Ellie huffed and walked out with a muttering of “knob” and “wanker” under her breath. She pointedly left the door open, which only left her with a view of her boss, still very obviously distracting himself with his paperwork and hiding an obvious smirk of amusement.

She set the tapes into a player and threw herself into transcription.

“ _After dinner,_ ” she promised herself. “ _finally punch the knob. In the arm. Nice and hard._ ”

  
\--

The banter between her and Hardy in the office had formed one of the few senses of normalcy for Ellie after everything with the Latimers, Sandbrook, and subsequent cases afterwards.

  
Dinners had formed the others.

  
Though, to be fair, even those had changed. Dinners for four, rather than shrink down to dinners for three with the occasional, begrudging presence of her father, had grown to dinners for five, and sometimes even eight.

As part of her ever-continuing fight to ensure the Hardys weren’t isolated hermits in the once close-knit community of Broadchurch, Ellie had taken it upon herself to invite Hardy and Daisy to meals on a weekly basis. Sometimes, it’d just be her family and Hardy’s. Other times, Beth and her girls would join in, the casual dinner near becoming a potluck at times, especially if the guilt crept upon whoever wasn’t the host of the meal.

Granted, the ‘weekly basis’ part was up to interpretation, and times like their recent investigation caused those more casual meals to become reduced to gathering around takeout boxes or dubious-quality leftovers with little conversation exchanged. But they still met, at the very least the Hardys and Millers met.

It was a greater hassle, no doubt about it, and Ellie had to invest in extra dishes to accommodate the suddenly more regular number of guests. But she didn’t mind it, and she was certain it did her boys good too.

  
Though tonight, of course, was a change of pace.

She had pinned back her unruly curls when she turned to face Fred.

Fred, now a lad nearing six years, entertained himself on the bedroom floor with his Thomas trains.

“Freddie, love, should mum wear the red blouse or the purple one?” She asked.

Fred hopped onto his knees and examined both shirts.  
“I like purple. Purple’s my favorite color. It’s the best color.” He said decidedly.

“Alright, purple it is.” Ellie chuckled as she slipped the blouse over her head.

She tugged on it and looked at herself in the mirror.

She paused; it was a mite dressy, wasn’t it? This was supposed to be a casual dinner at a pub.

She bit her lip and eyed her dresser; she should change.

Why had she reached for her dressy shirt in the first place?

  
But before she could dig for a more casual shirt, she heard a knock on the door.

“Shit!” She hissed.

She halted in her stride to address the shocked gaze on her son’s face.

“That’s not a nice word, momma.” He tutted in horror.

Ellie sighed and smiled fondly.  
“You’re right, Freddie. Momma’s sorry, she didn’t mean to say it.” She said.

There was another knock at the door.

“I’m coming! Hold your horses!” She shouted.

“Is it Duncle Alec?” asked Fred.

Ellie couldn’t help but smirk at the term. While Tom had memories of his birth father (for better or for worse), Fred had been blessed/cursed without any solid memories of his time with Joe. Ellie chalked it up to him being so young during the trial, but now Fred was left with a very dad-shaped hole in his life.

It only made sense, given how often Hardy would come by and spend time with his mum, that Fred would connect the dots in his own Freddie way.

As Ellie strode towards the door, she snorted at how white Hardy’s face went the first time Fred addressed him as “dad”.

He was very quick to correct Fred and ask him not to call him that. Ellie had suggested to Fred that he call Hardy “uncle”.

But Fred was stubborn, thus the term “duncle” was born, a bastardized portmanteau that seemed to please Fred, amused Ellie, and frustrate (but secretly warmed) Hardy.

Fred hopped after Ellie eagerly, his truck dragged behind him. Ellie adjusted her earrings and spotted Tom hunched over at the kitchen table. He was chowing on a bowl of leftover pasta.

“Tom, love, make sure that Fred eats his dinner, and that he has a bath before bed. I’ll be late tonight.” She asked.

“Mmph.” Grunted Tom.

“Did you get the mail today?” said Ellie as she eyed the side table.

“Forgot.”

Ellie sighed exasperatedly.  
“Well please try to remember tomorrow, we can’t miss any bills that come in!” She pointed.

“Okay, okay.” Said Tom; thoroughly distracted by his YouTube video.

A more fervent knock rapped against the door.

“Coming! Coming!” called Ellie as she, finally, made it to the front door.

  
Hardy stood there, dressed as always in his dress shirt and jacket. There was a bar of chocolate in his hands.

“Sorry about that, running a bit late.” Said Ellie.

“S’alright.” Said Hardy as he held out the sweet. “Got chocolate.”

“Chocolate!” squealed Fred as he squeezed around his mom and reached for the treat.

“F-Freddie! Oh dear, don’t let him get that, he’ll be up all night if he eats it.” Said Ellie as she wrestled her son.

“Not a problem, Miller. Got something better.” Said Hardy as he dug through his coat pocket.

He held out a small toy car, a red Firebird, out to Fred.

Fred gasped in delight and near snatched the toy from Hardy’s hand. He dashed off back into the house.

“Freddie! What do you say?”

“Thank you!” Fred’s voice echoed from the house.

Ellie looked back at Hardy with a relieved smile.  
“He probably has a mountain of cars now, you know. Thanks to you.” She remarked as she took the chocolate.

“Better that than a sugar high.” Shrugged Hardy. “You look nice.”

Ellie paused, then gave a small smile.  
“Thanks.”

“Ready to go?”

“ _Please_.” She said.

  
\--

The Sandpiper Pub was a small establishment just a block or so from the beach, what might’ve been prime real estate four years ago but now was just another strip in Broadchurch.

It billed itself as a strange fusion between the “classic English pub” experience and a brewhouse, serving up odd homemade IPAs, stouts, ambers, and other beer types that Ellie swore they’d made up on the spot.

They’d boast about their flavors, how the porters had hints of Black Forest Cake, or that their ambers had “notes of sea salt and ginger”.

Half of the ingredients in the cocktails were alien to both Ellie and Hardy.

The décor was a clash of driftwood tables, posters with green aliens throwing peace signs, and lighting fixtures made of repurposed mason jars. A record player spun modern rap music and indie lo-fi.

It all looked like someone’s garage had thrown up on the place; it baffled Ellie and Hardy to no end.

Said bafflement only subsided slightly once they learned the owner was an American who left the “city” to revitalize the “authentic English tavern but, like, with a modern and hip twist.”

  
They sat themselves in a booth where a neon seagull hung. They scoured the menu, looking for anything that resembled a normal drink.

“Pickle juice? Of all things, why ruin a perfectly good martini with pickle juice?” Ellie muttered.

Hardy snorted as he flipped the menu.

“Must be an American thing.” He noted.

Ellie smirked.

“Alright, pick your poison. Cheesecake IPA, or Mocha Porter?” Hardy said as he slapped the menu down.

“Christ, they both sound disgusting.” Ellie groaned. “Guess I’ll have the porter.”

“Whipped cream with that?”

“God, NO.” Ellie rolled her eyes before pausing. “You were joking right? That’s not an option.”

“With this place, wouldn’t be surprised.” Hardy said lowly. “Dare I look at the food menu?”

“Careful. The salads might have Allsorts for croutons.” She smirked.

“I swear, if one _does_ …” grumbled Hardy warningly.

Blessedly, the food menu veered closer to normalcy. A waiter with impressive facial hair took their drink and meal orders. Ellie ordered a pan-fried fish dish of some sort that sounded safe.

Hardy, after being chastised for nearly ordering a salad, compromised by ordering a chilled Asian noodle salad.

“Honestly, surprised that you aren’t half rabbit.” Ellie said with a head shake.

“Salads are good and versatile.” Defended Hardy.

Their beers were dropped off soon afterwards.

Taking the glass, she gave the beer a sniff.

She drew back; it smelled like candy.

“God, that’s just wrong.” She muttered. “Who would make something like this?”

“Someone who hates beer, and the people who like it.” Said Hardy as he sipped his.

He couldn’t stop the cringe that crossed his face, the classic sour lemon look.

“That good?” asked Ellie, her chin resting against her knuckles.

“Ach, that’s vile. I’d be offended if I liked mochas.” He said as he scraped his tongue against his teeth.

Ellie took a sip of hers. Indeed, it was like drinking distilled chocolate cake that someone chucked espresso powder at.  
“Guhhhh, that’s disgusting.” Ellie gagged.

“Coming from you, Queen of the Chocolate Lovers, that’s bad.”

“I like _good_ chocolate. I like beer. I like coffee. I don’t like them all together.” Ellie justified.

Hardy shrugged and took another sip.

“Christ, don’t keep drinking that!”

“I paid five pounds for this, Miller. Might taste like shit, but I won’t waste it either.” He said.

“Paid five pounds too much in my mind.” Ellie noted.

Hardy smirked.

Their conversation devolved into the usual topics: talking shop about their latest case, how their kids were, the shitty quality of the beer and the obnoxious hipster-quality to the establishment.

“Might be wrong, but this doesn’t seem like your kind of place.” Ellie said as she glanced at the decorations.

“Ah, Daiz's friend recommended it.” Hardy responded. “Said it’s where all the hip, young kids go.”

“Exactly the place for us then, us young, hip kids.” Ellie rolled her eyes.

“Too groovy.” He said.

“Oh god, I’ll thank you if you promise never to say that again.” She groaned.

“What? Say what?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“What? You mean _groovy_?” Hardy said, the o’s deliberately drawn out and rolled.

“Oh, that just sounds _wrong_ coming from you.” She moaned with a headshake.

“I think it sounds _groovy_.” Smirked as he took a sip of his beer.

He instantly recoiled.

“ _Fuck_.” He hissed.

“You deserved that.”

“No, this beer counts as excessive force.” Hardy scrunched his nose. “Any jury would rule that.”

“I can drink to that.” Said Ellie as she joined in with her own sip of her own nasty tonic.

Hardy chuckled at her disgusted face, and soon Ellie laughed too. The two were just laughing, together, casual and relaxed.

Ellie’s laughter slowed and she looked down at her drink.  
“This is nice.” She noted.

Hardy looked with a quirked brow.  
“Think so?” He asked.

The two gave quick nods of thanks to the waiter as their food was delivered.

“Yeah.” Said Ellie as she thoughtfully speared a bite of fish.  
She chewed on it before speaking again.  
“You know, I think this is a first for us. In almost five years of knowing each other.”

“Eating dinner together? We’ve done that.”

“No, you knob, I know that.” Ellie gave him a look. “I mean, just, hanging out. Not for case reasons or with our kids.”

Hardy’s expression softened as he twirled noodles around his fork.  
“Guess you’d be right.” He said as he took a tentative bite.  
He chewed slowly as his gaze darted to her.  
“Are you enjoying it?” He asked nervously.

Ellie nodded as she picked up a chip.  
“Say so, yeah.” She said. “Didn’t take you to be fun company.”

“Gee, thanks, Miller.” Hardy grumbled.

“Can’t blame me. You’re Mr. Grouchy and serious all the time.”

“Only on the job.”

“Not at first. Pretty sure you terrified Freddie those first few dinners.”

“I did?” asked Hardy, quietly. He looked genuinely concerned.

“Oh, well, no. No, Hardy, come on. You know Freddie adores you.” Ellie said, an amused smirk crossing her face. “You shower him with enough toy cars.”

“Well, hate for him to hate me.” Noted Hardy.

“He doesn’t. I know he doesn’t.” assured Ellie.

Hardy nodded and took another winced sip.  
“Good. Good to know.” He said with a frown to his drink.

Ellie adjusted and idly spun her glass. She gave a small smile.  
“Didn’t expect you to care that much.”

“Not a complete heartless bastard.” Hardy mumbled.

“Know that now.”

“He’s your kid, Miller.” He continued. “Has to see me enough, better if he likes me.”

“Guess it would be tough, if he disliked you.” She acknowledged.

Hardy’s gaze grew distant.  
“Been told that I irk people.” He said. “Just wanted to make sure he wasn’t one of them.”

“Feeling a bit insecure, sir?” She asked.

“Thanks for that.” Hardy grumbled as he slumped into his seat. “Not to be obvious, but people aren’t my forte. All too difficult with all these stupid rules, formalities, and…you know what I mean. Doing unnecessary things to reassure yourself and everyone else. Not sure what people think of you because everyone’s bloody polite.”

“I can get that, somewhat.” Ellie said with a short nod.

“Nah, people like you.”

“Just you and Beth now, and the jury’s out on you. Probably why she keeps making me meet people – “Ellie started. “ – ah _fuck_ , have to do that again, won’t I.”

Hardy raised an eyebrow.  
“She setting you up?”

Ellie groaned and nodded.  
“Has been for months now. Said I’m on the market and a ‘catch’.”

Hardy bit his lip.  
“Any luck?” He asked cautiously.

“No,” Ellie shook her head. “all duds.”

Hardy paused, then scooped another forkful of noodles.  
“Thought Beth would be better at scoping out good fits, close friends of yours and all.”

“Well,” started Ellie. “there’s nothing wrong with them. They’re fine. All nice, good jobs, clean teeth and hair, decent senses of humor. They’re just…just…”

“Boring?” suggested Hardy.

Ellie smirked. The smirk faded.  
“…possibly. And, well,” She sighed tiredly. “not sure I’m ready yet.”

An uncomfortable quiet settled over their table, over the bar. Even the music seemed to ebb to a slow whisper, and the patrons’ conversations grew soft.

“Miller – “

“I _know_. Completely ridiculous. Been five years and still not ready. I _know_ everyone thinks I should move on; _I_ know I should move on. But I’ve tried and it’s just…just…”

“ _Miller_.”

Ellie looked up. When had her vision gotten so blurry?  
She realized: tears. She wiped them away furiously.  
She finally noticed that Hardy was looking at her, expression sympathetic and patient, understanding and soft.  
It’d been some time since she’d seen that face.

“You move at your own pace.” He said quietly. “To _hell_ with whatever everyone else expects.”  
He pulled his glass close to him and gazed at its contents.  
“I’ve had…what, near seven years after Tess. I haven’t moved on.”

“You had that cheeky date.”

“And it was a right disaster. Don’t know what Daiz was thinking with those dating apps…” Hardy started before he shook his head. “…what I’m getting at is everyone expects you to move on because they aren’t in your head. You do what works best for you, and everyone else can stuff it.”

Ellie blinked. She might’ve turned a little pink at his intensity.

“Right?” asked Hardy, eyes bored into hers.

Ellie nodded.  
“Right.” She said as she took a large gulp of her drink.

She winced.

“God, that just isn’t getting better.” She coughed.

Hardy gave a half-smile.  
“We’ll go to the other pub next time.” He said. “One with normal beers.”

“And never come here again.” Added Ellie as she forcefully downed the rest.

“Cheers to that.” Said Hardy as he joined her.

  
\--

Once they finished dinner, the two piled back into Hardy’s car. The drive to Ellie’s house was fairly short from the pub, but neither were in any rush. Hardy drove at a relaxed pace, partially from the lack of rush and partially his still rusty driving skills.

As he drove, his eyes would dart to Ellie.

She sat; her shoulder rested against the window. Her eyes were pointedly fixed out the window.

“Something on your mind, Miller?”

Ellie’s eyes flitted to him.  
“That obvious?” She asked with a weak smile.

“Your arms are tense enough to snap in half. Your posture is rigid.” Hardy noted. “And I know Broadchurch is scenic, but the street can’t be that interesting.”

“How observant of you. You could be a great detective.” Smirked Ellie.

Hardy chuckled softly.

Ellie’s own smile faded as she stared out the window again.  
“I was lying, partly. Back at the bar.” She said softly.

“About?”

“Not being ready.” She said. “I want to date again.”

“Yeah?” said Hardy. “What’s stopping you then?”

Ellie’s eyes dropped and her hand clenched her knee.  
“Joe.” She whispered.

It was Hardy’s turn to tense. He uttered a ragged sigh and flicked the turn signal. He pulled off to the side and parked the car.

“Hardy?” questioned Ellie as he shut off the engine.

“Has he contacted you?” Hardy asked, dangerously quiet.

Ellie shook her head.  
“No.”

Hardy looked at her.  
“Has he contacted _the boys_?”

Ellie frowned and shook her head.  
“No, I don’t think so. I monitor Tom’s devices now, had him delete his old accounts during the Winterman case.”

“Could have a secret account.” Suggested Hardy.

“Hardy, _no_ , I don’t think he’s been in contact with Joe.” Ellie said firmly.

Hardy reluctantly nodded and sat back.  
“And wee Fred is too young.” He said.

“Not until he’s a teenager. We decided that.”

“So, nothing concrete to suggest he’s back.”

“Not that I know of.” Said Ellie.

“Right.” Hardy said as he grew quiet. “Then…”

Ellie shook her head slowly, absently. Her eyes were fixed on the dashboard.

“I have nightmares.” She said. “Everything is better. There’s someone in my life, someone new. The boys adore him, and it’s like things are normal again.”

She inhaled sharply.

“Then _he_ shows up. Murders the new man, Tom, Fred.”

“Ellie – “

“ _Don’t_ call me that.” Snapped Ellie.

She turned to Hardy. Her eyes glistened.

“You only call me that when my life goes to Hell.” She said. “And I can’t have that, not again.”

“I know.” Hardy said.

Ellie bit her lip and her gaze drifted down.  
“What if he comes back?” She said softly. “I don’t want someone in my life, not like that. Not if their life would be at risk. Can’t chance it.”

“Wouldn’t let him.” Hardy said, his eyes directed ahead. “Wouldn’t let him get close.”

“You can’t promise that.” Ellie laughed harshly.

She looked up and was near startled when she met Hardy’s earnest, brown eyes.

“Miller, that man has done enough damage to your life. To the boys.” He said. “He’ll have to climb over my dead body if he wants to come back and ruin everything again.”

Ellie paused. The intensity, the earnestness, the conviction; she’d seen it before in Hardy, but always about cases. About Pippa Gillespie and Lisa Newberry. About Danny Latimer. About Trish Winterman.

She’d never been on the receiving end of his promises. She’d never been the focus.

She shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. The warmth was profound, and so _much_.

“It’s getting late.” She noted distantly.

Hardy recoiled ever so slightly. He sucked a breath and nodded.  
“Right.” He said. “Sorry, right, should get you home.”

“Freddie probably stayed up.” Ellie said with a smile. “Always wants his bedtime stories.”

“Still wants Little Bear?”

“Oh yeah. All he wants to hear.” She rolled her eyes. “I swear I’ll start reciting the books in my sleep.”

Hardy chuckled, and Ellie chuckled too. The conversation was at that level for the ride home.

  
Once they reached Ellie’s home, she left with a wave.

“Thanks for dinner, Hardy. It was fun.” She said.

“See you tomorrow, Miller.” He said as he closed the passenger door.

It was like the conversation never happened.

That thought remained stuck in Ellie’s head as she walked back into her house, a glance at his awkward ‘attempting to be casual’ half-smile the last thing she saw.

  
\--

He’d been a complete idiot.

  
Hardy knew this, and the thought rattled in his mind as he drove home.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ …” He cursed under his breath as he struggled to pay attention to the road.

He knew he’d spooked her; he’d seen it in her eyes.

Normal people didn’t pledge themselves to protect their coworkers, even if the person they’re protecting them from is their murderous ex-husband.

He knew normal people didn’t do that.

Yet, he went ahead and did it anyways.

  
“ _Give me a medal for “Biggest Cock-up on the Planet”, current titleholder over forty years running._ ” He thought to himself bitterly.

  
He parked the car and sat in the seat for a while.

It had surprised even him, the passion behind his promise.

He meant it, of course. If he could help it, he’d keep Ellie and her boys safe, especially from the likes of Joe.

He’d been there when she first learned of Joe’s guilt, been there while she tried to recobble her life together, been there while she reeled from the jury’s verdict.

He watched her go on a redecorating spree, heard of her late-night painting sessions and how she replaced all the furniture in her bedroom. She’d even changed up the layout of the front lawn, and she told Hardy about all of this with a flare of pride.

She’d been so happy, so relieved to wipe every trace of that man from her life.

He remembered how relaxed she looked after her bout of redecorating fever.

He hadn’t seen her so relaxed since that fateful dinner at her place.

No, he knew that he’d swallow glass before he allowed Joe to waltz back in and shatter any peace she’d created, any semblance of normalcy.

  
Because she was his coworker, his partner, his friend.

Like any friend, he wanted to protect her.

But still, the strength of his words, the fire in his gaze that seemed to scare her…

He slapped the steering wheel and shook his head.

He needed to stop thinking about this.

He got out of the car and started towards his little white house.

As he drew close, he became confused at the darkness inside the house.

“ _Daiz is usually home at this hour…_ ” He thought.

Then he remembered, and his face fell.

“ _Right, she’s gone this weekend. Tess’s turn._ ”

He stopped and stared at the darkened house.

Hardy never considered himself a people person (it was something people could tell about him upon first meeting). The prospect of an empty house wouldn’t usually bother him.

Tonight, however, the prospect was daunting, the idea of being alone with nothing but his thoughts and chastising himself over fucking up in front of Miller.

His eyes traveled from the house to the cliffs above.

“ _Broadchurch is known for its cliffs; might be time to see what the fuss is about._ ” He thought as he turned towards a small, dirt path.

He climbed up the steep path, his steps dislodging pebbles and dirt patches. The coastal grass whistled and whipped in the cool, September wind. The waves crashed below at a steady rhythm. The sky had long gone dark, and a few stars were barely visible behind the blanket of gray clouds.

He tucked his hands into his pockets and proceeded upwards.

It was nice to have the luxury of a solo walk. He could thank the pacemaker for that.

What had been a daunting challenging a few years ago now was at least manageable.

Still, Hardy wasn’t a spring chicken, and by the time he reached the top he felt a little warm.

He turned on his heel and looked out over Broadchurch.

At his height, the town was nothing but an ocean of twinkling lights. A few buildings, like the church and a few houses were distinct amidst the blur.

It was late, veering towards 11. The town’s energy had wound down; not much action on a weeknight.

The streets were eerily empty and quiet, and all Hardy could hear was the occasional rumble of a car and the ambience of ocean coast.

He looked out across the sea and towards the adjacent cliffs.

  
He supposed they were alright. He could understand their appeal, to folks other than him.

The thought came included with the amusing concept of a put-off Miller, had she heard that little thought of his.

“ _You’re such a grump, can’t even enjoy a view like this._ ” She’d say.

“ _Why are you surprised? I said I still hate this place._ ” He’d reply.

“ _You said you_ mostly _hated this place. Thought that might mean you liked the scenery._ ”

“ _Ach, come on, Miller. Sky is still never-ending, still surrounded by water. Salty air is still irritating. People are still too smiley and nosey._ ”

“ _Then what_ do _you like about Broadchurch? What brought you back? Why not go anywhere else in the world, maybe someplace without the ocean and other knobbish people?_ ”

_He’d smirk._

“ _Because those places don’t have –_ “

Hardy stopped; the conversation died out in his head.

  
Even in the privacy of his own mind, he wouldn’t dare give the true answer.

_  
_He sighed and shoved his hands further into his pockets. He braced against the chill wind.

He was a cock-up, a complete mess.

Can’t even get it right with the one person he trusts in this damned world.

He looked out once more at the blasted, bloody, endless ocean.

There were footsteps behind him. He barely noticed amidst the rustling grass and whistling wind.

“Excuse me mate, you got the time?” called a voice.

Hardy started to turn as he pulled his mobile out.  
“Yeah, it’s around 11 – “

  
Then there were hands, hands on him.

Hands at his shoulders, then hands at his _neck_.

Hardy gasped and struggled as he plummeted to the ground. His mobile phone fled from his grip and skittered across the grass.

He felt something crunch as he fell and poke into his back.

He fought and shouted as the gloved hands wrestled with his arms.

He’d grown stronger after his surgery, but his assailant was a _tank_.

He was rapidly pinned by the stranger’s one arm.

“Get off me, you bastard!” Hardy hissed as he clawed and ripped at the arm.

The stranger paid him little attention. He was handed a rag by another, tall stranger.

The masked stranger surged forward, and the rag was shoved over his nose and mouth.

The sickly-sweet odor immediately alarmed Hardy.

He clawed at the hand, at the rag, but his vision was swimming.

His limbs floundered and flopped to the ground, deaf to his pleas to continue fighting, as he looked to his side.

The second person, a set of shoes in his line of sight, approached his mobile and kicked it into a bush.

His breathing grew shallow and wheezy. The corners of his vision blurred.

  
And then everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Life as a single mother meant that, like clockwork, Ellie would arrive to work after Hardy.

  
That was not the case today.

  
After dropping off Fred at school and ensuring Tom got himself up as well, she’d made her way to the station, right on time. She’d set the remnants of her breakfast on her desk, got her morning coffee, and walked past Hardy’s office.

She slowed once she noticed the lights inside off.

She stopped and frowned. She peered through the glass, but indeed, there was no Hardy inside.

It wasn’t too late. It was possible that Hardy was running late, and pigs took flight to announce that yes, Ellie had beaten him to work. Award her a scotch egg and a long nap.

  
Ellie didn’t want to admit that she had absolutely no clue why Hardy would be late.

  
She busied herself with finishing up the report on the assault and sending it to its necessary recipient. She went through more files and finished up other paperwork before she looked up.

An hour passed. She glanced at Hardy’s office.

The lights were still off.

The frown on her face returned. She reached for her mobile and checked its screen.

No new messages, no missed calls, no voicemails.

She unlocked it and scrolled to Hardy’s contact.

The line rang as she waited.

 _You’ve reached the voicemail of_ DI Alec Hardy. _Please leave your message at the sound of the tone._

The tone droned on.

“This is your morning wake-up call, sir. Just a friendly reminder to get your arse out of bed and into the station. Remember, you do need to come to work!” Ellie said with a smirk before she hung up.

She set her phone aside and returned to her paperwork.

A call came into the station and Ellie was dispatched. A report of vandalism had been called in; easy enough for Ellie to handle without her DI. A DC like Hartford might’ve sufficed, but Ellie secretly appreciated the chance to leave the station and get some fresh air.

As expected, the vandalism issue had been a piece of cake. A discarded spray can in the alley adjacent to the house matched the brand of cans inside the carport, and a gap in the neatly organized rows confirmed her suspicion that it was the missing can. A quick glance over the security camera footage showed the perpetrator entering with a key, and not through a forced entry initially stated by the husband.

A quick series of questions later, and the husband confessed to framing his stepson for the vandalism, as he viewed the teen as a troublemaker and a lowlife.

Ellie decided not to cite the husband for falsely reporting a crime. The look on his wife’s face told her he’d receive enough punishment at home.

Unfortunately, even easy crimes take time, and Ellie returned to the station as the clock moved past noon. As she slung her jacket back over her chair, she spared another glance at Hardy’s office.

It was still dark.

The worry returned in her stomach. As a new DC passed by, she stopped him.

“Hey, have you seen Hardy? Has he stopped by today?” She asked.

“Nah, haven’t seen a glimpse of Shitface all day.” said Bryant, a newer DC.

Ellie tried not to grimace at how fast Hardy’s little nickname spread, even to the new recruits.

“Oi, show some respect, he’s your superior.” She frowned.

“Sorry mam.” Noted Bryant, less than sorry. “I haven’t seen him. Not since yesterday. Have you called him?”

“Did this morning. Think I’ll try again.”

“Best of luck to you.” Said Bryant as he left for lunch.

Ellie sighed and slumped back into her chair. She grabbed her mobile and dialed Hardy’s number.

 _You’ve reached the voicemail of_ DI Alec Hardy. _Please leave your message at the sound of the tone._

The beep rang on.

“Hardy, it’s Miller. Uh, where the hell are you? A little bit, a little…just call me back when you get this, okay?” She stumbled.

She hung up and set the mobile down before she ran a hand over her face.

Hardy might take his time to answer, but he _always_ answered, especially during work hours.

Ellie couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten his voicemail.

Had she ever gotten his voicemail?

  
The unease stirred in her stomach. She nearly reached for her phone again, but she stopped herself.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t give in to her anxiety and fill Hardy’s inbox.

Even with the feeling that something was wrong, she just couldn’t.

Hardy was an odd one who operated by his own beat. This could just be a new composition, one that Ellie would have to sight-read.

  
She returned to her work, unable to think of food. She’d just work through lunch and leave early.

When her phone rang a few minutes later, she nearly fell out of her seat. She righted herself and scrambled for her mobile.

The number, however, was not familiar to her.

“DS Ellie Miller.” She answered.

“Hello, Ellie?” asked the voice, female, on the other end.

Ellie stopped.

“Daisy? Is that you?” She asked as calmly as she could.

“Yeah.” Confirmed Daisy. “I, uh, was wondering if my dad was with you. I’ve tried calling him three times now, we were supposed to have a chat this morning, but he hasn’t been answering his phone.”

Well, this only stoked the worry in Ellie’s stomach. She swallowed dryly before she answered.

“No love, I haven’t seen him this morning.” She responded. “I asked around and he hasn’t come in from what I can tell.”

She could hear a nervous shudder on the other end and it broke Ellie’s heart.

“Um, I’m sorry, I know I’m probably panicking for no reason,” Daisy said. “but would you be willing to check by the house? Just see if he’s okay? Just with his heart and all – “

“Oh, love, it’d be no problem at all.” Ellie assured strongly. “To be honest, I’ve been wondering about him myself. Might put both our nerves at rest.”

She heard a weak laugh on the other end.

“Dad’s probably just being a knob, panicking us both. He’s good at that.” Daisy remarked.

“Don’t need to tell me that.” Ellie rolled her eyes. “I’ll check up on him as soon as we’re done talking and I’ll let you know, okay? He probably just slept through his alarm.”

Daisy made a noise that suggested she didn’t believe her. Ellie knew this, but what else could she say? She wasn’t about to panic her for, possibly, no reason.

“Thank you, Ellie.” Said Daisy. “I really appreciate this.”

“No need for thanks. I’ll let you know once I check the house.”

“Thank you.”

Daisy hung up, and Ellie stood to collect her coat.

She took her lunch and left the station.

  
\--

Blessedly, the Hardy home was only a few minutes from the station. Ellie was there in ten minutes flat.

She parked the car behind Hardy’s, which was the first thing she noticed.

With his pacemaker in place, Hardy tried to take cabs as little as possible. He liked the autonomy, she felt, the ability to drive once more, a luxury he was deprived of as his heart failed.

Thus, if the car was here, then Hardy must be nearby or at home.

It at least shrunk the areas that Ellie would need to search.

She walked up to Hardy’s stoop and rapped her knuckles against the door.

“Hardy? Sir? You in?” She called loudly.

There was no answer.

She waited to see if maybe Hardy was deeper in the house, if perhaps he’d need to hustle to his front door to answer.

But after several minutes, there was nothing but silence.

The worry line deepened between Ellie’s eyebrows. She stalked over to a window whose blinds weren’t completely drawn and peered inside.

The living room was dark, absent of any signs of recent usage: no mugs were left on the coffee table, no dishes in the dry rack, no coat hung up on any furniture or racks.

Ellie concluded that Hardy hadn’t been there since yesterday.

  
And that thought only added fuel to her fear.

She took a deep breath, exhaled, and dialed Hardy’s number again.

She pressed the mobile to her ear and listened to the dial tone.

The wind whistled in her ears, blew stray strands of her hair, and carried a foreign sound in its tune.

It caught her attention. She furrowed her brow and, slowly, pulled the phone from her ear.

She looked about and searched for the sound. It was so faint, barely a chime in the roar of the ocean wind.

  
But she could hear it, the tinny mechanical sound of a ringtone.

  
It sounded like Hardy’s ringtone.

As the phone went to voicemail, Ellie hung up and punched the redial button as she hiked away from the house. Her eyes scanned the surrounding cliffs, her ears trained for the generic ringtone Hardy never bothered to change.

The sound was still distant, and she realized it was above her.

She pulled her anorak close and hiked up the hill, towards the faint sound of the ringtone.

“Hardy? Sir? Are you up here?” She called as she ascended the top of the hill.

There was no one there other than her.

She scrunched her face and dialed once more. She spun on her heel as she looked for the source of the sound.

The ringtone was far louder. She was close, very close, but there was no Hardy.

  
And that sprung panic in her heart.

  
She strode, near marched, towards the source of the ringtone once she fixed it on a distant patch of grass. As she walked, she heard something clatter against her sensible trainers.

She glanced down and the color drained from her face.

It was a pair of glasses that sported a crack in its left lens.

She crouched down to examine them.

She felt sick; she recognized the glasses as Hardy’s.

“Sir?” She called again, her voice shaking far more.

There was still no answer.

The ringtone still chimed from the distant bush.

She jogged far faster towards the bush and near leapt to her knees once the ringtone reached obnoxious levels of volume.

Her fingers dug through sticky and stinging brambles, her eyes fixed upon any sign of her boss, her _friend_.

She found it deep in the bush’s grasp.

She pulled his phone with the sleeve of her jacket. It lit up and displayed a dismally low battery, as well as multiple missed calls, both hers and Daisy’s.

She stood to her feet; breath reduced to shallow pants as she looked about wildly.

“Sir? Hardy?” She yelled, as if he’d magically appear.

She spun around.

“Hardy? ALEC?” She near screamed.

Still, nothing.

“ _Shit_.” Ellie hissed as she fumbled for her own mobile.

She dialed a number and pressed her phone to her ear.

“Jenkinson? It’s Ellie.” She said, as calmly as she could muster. “I’m on lunch, I went to check on Hardy.”

“Mam, we need SOCO on the scene immediately, up on the cliffs near his home. I think he’s been kidnapped.”

  
\--

As he stirred, he was hit by an aching throb in his head.

He groaned and smacked his lips at the lingering sweet taste.

His limbs twinged and groaned as he forced himself to lift his head. The world was a foggy and muddled place from his view.

He knew was inside. He also knew that he had no clue where he was.

“ _A fantastic start._ ” He thought.

He blinked and tried to clear the fuzziness from his vision. The world started to sway.

“ _Chloroform. Must still be in my system._ ” He concluded.

He stretched his legs and shook the fogginess from them. He drew them close and forced himself to his feet.

A tug nearly toppled him back to the ground.

He grumbled and glanced back as the fog started to fade.

He finally noticed the rough sensation rubbing against his wrists.

His wrists had been cuffed with a substandard pair of handcuffs, clearly not police issued. A rope was tied around the chain connecting the two cuffs. Said rope was snared around a pole.

“Oh, bloody _brilliant_.” He growled as he gave the rope an experimental tug.

The rope creaked slightly at his pull. There was fraying right where the rope was snagged around the pole.

  
The world was still swaying.

If he gave the rope a few swift tugs, he might be free. Then he could focus on breaking the handcuffs.

With a sharp grunt, he reared back and pulled at the rope.

He looped the rope around his palm and yanked it taught. He gave it another tug.

The rope crackled and groaned. The spot near the pole thinned as it unwound itself.

He took a sharp breath and prepped. His fingers twirled around the weakening rope.

He dug his heel back, prepping to give the final yank, when the sharp sound of metal scraping filled the room.

  
He spun around and stared.

At the back of the room, a door was open. Someone walked through, tall with a bald head. He wore an old sweater and ratty jeans. Another rope dangled off his forearm.

He knew him immediately, the blight the man was.

Hardy gritted his teeth.

Joe _fucking_ Miller.

Joe stopped once he noticed the eyes bored into him. He froze; his pupils shrunk to pinpricks as he swallowed dryly.  
  
“You’re finally awake.” He said quietly.

  
Hardy growled and, as he rushed towards Joe, the rope finally _snapped_.

Joe hardly had a moment to gather himself before Hardy slammed against him. He was shoulder checked him into the shelving and the cabinets clattered in response.

He gasped and gripped at the counter before he slipped to the floor.

He scrambled to his feet and lunged for Hardy.

Hardy reared back, his hand still gripped around the rope. Both hands gripped it as he lashed it in front of him.

It whipped upwards, in an arc, and sliced at Joe’s face.

“Ah _fuck_!” Joe yelped as he fell back against the counter and gripped his cheek.

Hardy glared at his would-be captor before he glanced at the door.

He bolted for the small stairs leading up to it.

“Hardy, wait!” shouted Joe.

Hardy ignored him and threw his shoulder against the door. A dull pain laced through his shoulder blade.

He stumbled out into the sunlight. The world still swerved and swayed.

He gasped and collected himself, and finally lifted his head to survey his surroundings.

  
The blood drained from his face.

A seagull cried above him. It flew out towards the distance, towards what laid before Hardy.

Water.

Endless water.

He stared, unable to say anything.

He backed up and bumped into the metal wall.

His heart jumped into overdrive, and he wondered if his pacemaker might fire.

He stumbled and tripped as he ran the other direction.

His heartbeat wildly in his ears.

He ran away from the distant water and prayed to a god he didn’t believe in for the smallest sight of land.

  
The other direction presented him with more water.

“Oh god, no…” He muttered as he forced himself to run around the corner.

  
Water, and air tinged with salt.

“No, no, don’t do this to me…” He mumbled; his voice choked as his mouth ran dry.

  
He ran once more, until he reached where he’d started.

He stopped and spun around, his breathing devolved into pants and gasps.

The ocean stretched endless in all directions.

The floor beneath him dipped at a wave and he nearly tumbled onto his back.

He continued to search, plead, fruitlessly for land.

Despite himself, his legs were trembling.

“Shit…shit…shit… _shit_ …” He muttered repeatedly. “No…no…”

The floor creaked behind him.

  
He’d barely registered it in his panic.

A sharp _crack_ vibrated through his skull and he hit the deck with a _thud_.

He groaned. His vision tunneled.

  
A pair of boots, caked with dried mud, stopped a few inches in front of him.

“Aye lad, no need for all that. Let’s get you back below.”

  
He felt a pair of hands on his shoulders as he finally fell unconscious.


	3. Chapter 3

SOCO was on the scene, faster than Ellie could remember them ever arriving. She supposed the disappearance of a detective would necessitate expediated response.

  
The cliffs and Hardy’s home were blocked with a perimeter of tape. SOCO team members scoured the grasses in their white coveralls, cameras and baggies at the ready. They’d already bagged Hardy’s cracked glasses and his mobile phone; the door to his home had been photographed and unlocked to investigate the interior.

  
Ellie stepped under the tape and walked through the sectioned crime scene. Her gloved hands were tucked under her armpits as she braced against the harsh wind.

She watched as SOCO members wove in and out of the Hardy residence, camera flashes reflected in the windows.

  
The surrealness of the situation hit her; she’d remembered when the perspective was flipped, all those years ago.

SOCO had once sectioned her home too, after Joe was arrested for Danny’s murder. She remembered the invasiveness, the loss of security as her coworkers thumbed through every belonging, every cabinet, to search for hints and clues towards her family’s (unknowingly) darkest secret. It took months before she could even re-enter her house and view it as “home”.

  
It was then that she thanked God that Daisy was out of town. She couldn’t imagine the poor girl having to witness this.

“Tea?” offered Brian.

Ellie turned and nodded her thanks.

Brian, for his part, played mostly the role of supervisor for the SOCO team. Some new hires allowed him to take a backseat on most occasions, but this was an exception.

Thus, Ellie glanced over at Brian to ensure that he had, beforehand, removed his latex gloves. No offense to SOCO, but the idea of accepting a cup of tea handled by the same gloved hands that rifled through dusty corners and possible blood samples didn’t appeal to her.

“Find anything yet?” She asked with a sigh.

“Search of the house is nearly done, but not much to say. Nothing out of place, no fingerprints or signs of forced entry. Not even many signs he’d _been_ in the house much lately.”

“Makes sense. We’ve been busy with that assault case.” Said Ellie. “So, most likely, he never came home. Or at least didn’t stop by his house.”

“I’d say so.” Brian nodded. “We did notice some crushed grass up on the cliff, near where his glasses were found. It seemed inconsistent with what you might see with, say, harsh winds or overabsorption of water. The patch was also fairly large and uniform.”

Ellie bit her lip.

“I’ll show you.” Said Brian as he directed her back up the hill.

Ellie kept her gaze steeled and focused, even as her mind swum at the implications. She had a guess already, but so much of her wanted to be wrong. She bumped past a few SOCO members, who apologized briskly. She didn’t respond.

Brian gestured towards the area she’d found the glasses.

“See how crushed the grass is?” said Brian. “We tested a theory with one of our team’s members a while away. Had him fall backwards onto the grass. Grass got crushed, but not like this.”

“So, he was forced down, most likely attacked.” Ellie noted as she chewed her lip.

“Say so.” Brian said as he pointed behind him. “Found some crushed grass a while away too. Long trail that leads down the cliff. Team found some spilled liquid, looks like motor oil. They’ll take that for analysis. Trail ends right by it.”

“ _Shit_.” Ellie muttered under her breath. “Knocked out then, dragged off. Mobile phone under a bush. No blood or anything?”

“No, not so far.” Brian answered.

“ _Shit_.” Ellie repeated as her hand cupped over her mouth.

Brian looked over at her with a concerned gaze.

“Alright?”

Ellie nodded shallowly.

“Yeah.” She said.

Brian shuffled in his place as his arms crossed over his chest.

“I, uh, know it’s not my job, but,” He started. “any idea of who might’ve done this? Who might’ve wanted to hurt him?”

Ellie shook her head.

“Not the faintest.”

“No angry, former suspects? No vengeful family members?”

“Only people I’d consider were from the Sandbrook case. But that’s been closed for years. Anyone with a vendetta is behind bars.” Sighed Ellie.

“Right. Huh.” Brian frowned. “Well, we’ll keep searching, get anything we find to the lab for analysis. Let you know if we find anything important or interesting.”

“Thanks Brian.” Said Ellie as he walked off.

She took a sip of her now near cold tea. It at least tasted nice.

Brian’s question rattled in her brain. She ran through their most recently closed cases, any investigations that might’ve stirred a proverbial hornet’s nest. Hardy could be difficult, that was clear to everyone in the station. But even with that, he very rarely pissed off anyone without reason.

Those he generally pissed off he had a right to be angry with; they were usually their perpetrators.

So, like she said, anyone with a grudge was safely locked away.

And their recent cases had none of the complications of Sandbrook. No botched investigations, no serious dropped charges.

So, it seemed, no one had a reason or motive to target Hardy. Ellie couldn’t think of anyone who’d wanted to hurt him.

_What if it’s not him, but_ you _they wanted to hurt?_

 _  
_The thought, that odd voice, spoke up, and Ellie froze. She frowned and chewed on the thought.

Was that a possibility?

It seemed odd, and near implausible. Why target Hardy if they were going after her?

He was her boss, hardly the first person you’d pick to abduct if they wanted something from her. They’d want to target Tom or Fred, as much as the thought made her ill.

“ _Nothing deeper. Just a friendship, work partnership. Makes no sense._ ” She thought with flat words.

Even if there was something deeper, she couldn’t think of anyone who’d want to hurt her or want something from her.

She shuddered. There was one.

But he’d been silent for years.

  
“Not him. Not him.” She muttered as she drew her jacket closer, like a shield from her own mind.

  
It wasn’t him; he wasn’t back, he wouldn’t dare.

  
It had to be someone else.

  
\--

The first thing he felt when he awoke was a drop of water.

He blinked, and his head rushed with a sharp and pounding ache. He groaned and attempted to reach up to massage his temples.

But he couldn’t; his attempt was immediately halted by the rub of something rough against his skin. He tried to turn and look, only to knock his cheek against smooth tiling.  
He grumbled and tried to scramble to his feet, but he was thwarted by a similar roughness around his ankles.  
He looked down and realized his ankles were bound by thick, scratchy rope.

He could only guess that his hands, wrenched behind his back, were in a similar position.

Wherever he was, it was dark and cramped. The room itself seemed like it could barely accommodate him standing, much less sat with his knees bent towards his chest.  
The only light in the room came from the gap at the bottom of the door a few feet away.

Another drop of water dripped onto his head, and he sent an annoyed glare upwards.

He saw it; a shower head, old and leaky.

His eyes widened.

He blinked and squinted as he looked around the room again, this time his eyes adjusted better to the darkness.  
Indeed, an object he saw near the door seemed to be a sink. Above it was a square mirror.

At least he had a faint idea of where he was.

He was cut off from the rest of the room by glass, and with his cheek he felt around for the abrupt edge where the door would be.  
He found it a few inches ahead of him and, with a grunt, he lifted himself to an upright sitting position.

He leaned his weight against the door, but it didn’t budge.

He shifted himself to his left and, more forcefully, he fell against the door.

The door jarred, rattled, and opened an inch, but the gap quickly shut itself again.

Frowning, Hardy reared back and, with as much momentum as he could muster, he threw himself against the door.

His shoulder buzzed with pain, the door rattled again, and he heard something hard _clunk_ against the glass.

But it still didn’t move.

He exhaled sharply and stared in frustration at the handle. He tested his restraints, but they didn’t budge either.   
He only earned a sharp flare from his abused shoulder.  
He looked at the door once more. This time, he spotted a square shape that dangled between the handles and hung from something else.

He frowned. It didn’t take a detective to figure out it was a padlock.

Another drop of water splattered atop his head.

Before he could begin another attempt at escape, he heard the distant sound of a door slam. He froze and, instead, trained his ear to the noise just beyond the outer door. The voices were slightly muffled, but he could eke out enough to understand.

“You shouldn’t have knocked him out. How long has he been unconscious? You do realize that head trauma is a serious issue and I don’t exactly have the tools to deal with that.”

“I didn’t have a lot of options, lad. You want him to chuck himself overboard? Cause I bet my left leg that’s what he would’ve done next hadn’t I come along.”

“It won’t exactly matter if he’s _dead_.”

“Ah, he isn’t dead. Didn’t hit him hard enough for that.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Fine, if it’ll get your pants untwisted, I’ll check on our little guest. You keep an eye on the pot.”

Hardy staggered back against the wall as the pair of footsteps drew close and stopped at the door.

He heard the man fumble around his pockets and wrestle with another lock. It clicked open and, suddenly, the bathroom was flooded with light.

He squinted; the flood of light was painfully bright. He averted his gaze to better shield his eyes as the man added another light to the deluge.

“Aye, Stevie! He’s alive.” Bellowed the stranger. “Told ya he’d be fine.”

Hardy finally dared to open his eyes as he blinked away the spots in his vision. He stared up at the stranger.

He was tall, must’ve had a few inches on Hardy, who wasn’t lacking in height himself.

He was bulky, with arms like tree branches and a torso like a barrel. His face was framed with a scraggly beard, a light brown stained with gray.

He wore a ratty sweater and jeans. There was a jolliness in the man’s blue eyes and smile that might’ve been comforting had the situation been different.

  
Instead, it only set Hardy on edge. Just how honest was that friendly smile? Did it hide something?

“Evening sunshine! Good to see you moving and alive.” He said, hands on his hips.

Hardy blinked away his thoughts. He cleared his throat and steadied his gaze. If he wanted to survive, he’d need to enter detective mode.

“Wouldn’t have thought you _wanted_ me alive. Blow to the head; bit risky.” Hardy noted. “Think you’d mind untying me?”

The man’s bright smile wavered ever so slightly but remained. The man tsk’d and shook his head as he worked with the padlock.

“Ah, well, can’t have you leaving quite yet. Besides,” He said as the padlock clattered to the ground. “we’re about to have some supper. And you’re the guest of honor.”

He threw the door open; his frame filled the shower door.

Hardy attempted to squirm away, but the stranger’s hands, big and calloused, easily found his shirt collar. He was yanked roughly upwards and out of the shower stall.

The stranger twisted around him and clasped the back of his collar with one hand, the other firmly clenched around his bound wrists. In a half carrying, half leading fashion, he brought Hardy out of the small bathroom.

All the while, the stranger hummed some sort of sailor’s song.

The accommodation was nice, though not luxurious. Thin, beige carpeting covered the area outside the bathroom. To his right, Hardy spotted a queen-sized bed.

To his left, a small kitchen filled a portion of the wall. It was basic, with a standard range and suitable counter space. Adjacent to the kitchen was a small, round table, boxed by booth-style seating. Small windows dotted the upper portions of the walls.

A support pillar stood a few feet from the wall, the one Hardy assumed he’d been tied to earlier.

There was no evidence of the flimsy shackling from earlier, but what replaced it jolted the fury in Hardy’s soul.

A chain lead, barely half an arm’s length, was connected low on the pole. At the end of the lead was a black, leather dog collar.

And Hardy was being led straight towards it.

“You’ve got to be _fucking kidding me_.” Hardy growled. “You wouldn’t _dare_.”

The stranger stopped and turned Hardy around. His fist was still fixed firmly on his collar.

Hardy, forced to stare at the stranger, took in the casual smile and almost lackadaisical nod.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Hardy warned.

“You’re a funny one, D.I. Hardy.” Laughed the stranger.

The look in his eyes grew dark; the smile remained.

“You really think you have the leverage to argue?” He said quietly. “Maybe you’re forgetting who’s bound like a roasted bird right now.”

  
And with that, the stranger’s grip grew firmer and harsher.

Hardy was near yanked along the last stretch to the pole. The stranger shoved him hard against the pole and his back clacked against the metal.

Hardy couldn’t stop a pained yelp as he was shoved to the floor. The man’s hand remained pressed into his neck as the other worked, surprisingly nimble, with the buckle of the collar.

Before he knew it, Hardy was leashed to the pole, the demeaning collar pulled taught against his neck, not tight enough to choke but enough to be uncomfortable.

The man stood and admired his handiwork. The friendly and deceiving warmth returned to his smile as he patted Hardy’s shoulder.

“There you are! Nice and snug as a bug in a rug. Or is it too tight?”

Hardy shot the harshest glare he could muster at the captor.

The man looked unfazed as he shrugged.

“Must be fine then.” He noted as he strolled to the table.

The chain was set just low enough that Hardy couldn’t stand, not even on his knees. He had the choice between sitting on his bottom or with his legs folded beneath him. His luck would have it that the stranger had picked the latter.

Joe finally appeared in his field of vision. He carried a pot of something steaming and savory; Hardy could smell the scent of seafood waft through the air.

Joe didn’t give him much of a glance, maybe a small dart of the eyes but nothing more. He paid attention to his dinner companion as he set the pot down.

Hardy watched as the two ignored him, focused instead on their dinner which, he’d only begrudgingly admit, smelled pretty good. He somewhat regretted only picking at his noodle dinner however much time that’d been ago.

  
Hardy tried not to linger on the fact that, already, he wasn’t completely sure how much time had passed.

His two captors only acknowledged him after quite some time. They’d poured themselves seconds when Joe finally dared to look down at the bound detective.

If Hardy didn’t know Joe, he might’ve thought he looked remorseful, or at least regretful.

Since he did know Joe, he wasn’t sure what the look meant, but he knew it was short lived.

Joe returned to his dinner and scooped a healthy spoonful. Instead of eating it, however, he carefully took it with him as he crouched before Hardy.

He held the spoon out to him, not unlike a parent feeding a toddler. The steam hit his nose and carried the delectable smell with it.

Hardy, however, didn’t budge.

“I don’t think so.” He said with a look.

“It’s completely safe, you saw that.” Joe bargained. “Come on, it’s my famous chowder. Can’t say no to it.”

“Try me.”

“Host is offering you food, Hardy.” Said the stranger warningly. “Best to not offend him.”

“What, you think this is some sort of Sunday dinner?” asked Hardy with raised voice. “I’m bound and chained to this pole like a dog, and you’re demanding politeness from me?”

“Hardy, _please_ , no need to be difficult.” Joe said placatingly. “It’s either this or nothing at all. Just eat the spoonful.”

Hardy’s gaze flipped to Joe and he gritted his teeth. In one swift movement, he fell onto his butt and kicked his legs in front of him. The tip of his toes connected with Joe’s wrist and sent the spoon flying. Chowder splattered on his pants, Joe’s shirt, and the carpeting.

Hardy’s outburst seemed to flip a switch in the stranger’s brain. The jovial smile was gone; a thinned and strained snarl replaced it. He leapt onto his feet and stormed over to Hardy. When Joe was in his way, he pushed him aside.

He threw out a kick, aimed at Hardy’s chest. Hardy gasped in shock as it connected, hard, with his ribcage.

A hand pressed against his collar bone as the foot and knee met, repeatedly, with his ribs and chest.

He tried to steel himself, but it was growing increasingly impossible to breathe.

He wheezed.

He choked.

He sputtered and gasped.

He heard something crack.

“Mackie, stop! That’s enough!” Joe pleaded as he grabbed the man’s arm.

The man named Mackie stopped and snapped his attention to Joe.

When Joe flinched, Mackie’s anger seemed to cool.

“I think he’s learned his lesson.” Joe said calmly.

Mackie blinked and nodded.

“Aye, I agree. Sorry lad, lost my temper.” He said.

The two got up and returned to the table. Joe retrieved a new spoon from a drawer.

Hardy, for his part, fought to catch his breath. But each attempt to breathe was a battle, each breath hard earned through constricted lungs.

His ribs might not be broken, but they were definitely out of place.

Rather than act as a cocoon, they were acting like a weakened vice; not crushing his lungs but applying a squeeze that felt anything but gentle.

He sucked in a breath and was rewarded with a harsh, coughing fit.

He jerked forward from the cough; the collar choked him in return.

Joe would occasionally send him a glance, his look once again bordering on pity.

“I think you were too rough on him.” He noted to his friend.

Mackie stopped, mid-chew, and set down his spoon. He folded his hands together and nodded.

“He was being disrespectful.” He said simply.

“You could’ve broken his ribs. I can’t fix that out here.”

“Stevie,” sighed Mackie. “we talked about this. You can’t worry about that.”

“I _am_ though, Mackie. We need to be more careful.”

“This is for _you_ , Stevie. You won’t get what you’re looking for by babying him.” Mackie warned.

“I know.” Sighed Joe.

He spared another look at Hardy.

Hardy stared back warily.

“I just don’t know if I could go through with – “

“I know you’re worried. I get it.” Mackie said. “But remember? We’re here to _heal_. I read something; these things are a progress. Takes time.”

“ _Excuse me_ , are you serious?” spat Hardy.

Both Joe and Mackie’s gazes snapped to Hardy.

“What is this to you? Therapy? Forgive me if I haven’t heard of torture therapy, but it seems a wee bit daft.”

“You don’t need to listen to him. He’s just trying to scare you.” Said Mackie in hushed tone.

“Aye, I am! Because this is ridiculous, Joe. I don’t know what you’re thinking you’d accomplish with all this, but believe me, whatever you’re planning won’t work. I’d give up now if I were you, before this gets any worse.” Said Hardy, his attention set on Joe.

Joe shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.

“Before this gets any worse. Just stop this.” Hardy said firmly. “You can, Joe. Easy.”

“I think that’s enough. Back to your room, Hardy.” Mackie said as he stood.

Mackie grabbed Hardy by the dog collar and yanked him to his feet. One hand clenched around his shirt collar as the other undid the buckle.

“Let go of me. You have no part of this.” Hardy hissed. “If you’re making Joe do this, or he’s making you do this – “

“This is a joint effort. Neither one is making the other. We’re here for our own reasons, and we both need something from you.” Mackie answered casually as he dragged him back towards the bathroom.

Hardy looked back, a glare in his eyes, towards Joe.

  
Joe watched; his fingers curled around fistfuls of his pant legs.

Joe disappeared as Hardy was pulled back into the bathroom. The darkness laid thick and impenetrable, a fog that almost separated it from the rest of the boat.

Mackie slammed the door shut and tossed Hardy to the floor.

Before he could collect himself, a knee burrowed straight below Hardy’s ribcage, pinned him to the ground and yanked a strangled squawk from him.

He gasped and sputtered, but these sounds were silenced too as Mackie’s hands closed around his neck, not tight enough to kill, but enough to end any attempt at sound.

“You’re a weaselly one, aren’t you?” asked Mackie through clenched teeth, still fixed into an eerie smile. “A ragged, pathetic little weasel. A sick little _rat_ with not an ounce of respect.”

Hardy squirmed beneath Mackie’s hold.

“Even now, can’t sit still. I’m _talking_ to you.” Mackie hissed as he dug his knee further.

Hardy gagged and went still.

“Better.” Said Mackie.

One of his hands left Hardy’s neck and instead squeezed his jaw. He sharply turned Hardy’s face to look him in the eyes.

“Now listen, I know you think Joe will be soft on you, but I assure you, if you decide to make this more difficult than it needs to be, he _will_ make life miserable for you.” Mackie said casually.

Hardy swallowed thickly.

“You see, what Joe wants from you is _so little_ , _so miniscule_ , compared to everything that has happened. Everything _you_ _know_ has happened. It shouldn’t be hard to just give him this _tiny_ , _little thing_.”

Mackie squeezed Hardy’s throat and a wheeze from him.

“It’s the least you could do for him, don’t you agree?” Mackie asked. His tone was like a children’s television host, all sweetness and friendliness and any request sounded so reasonable, so understandable.

Except Hardy had no clue what Joe wanted. And even if he did, he could smell the whiff of venom in Mackie’s jovial words.

Mackie smiled and sighed. He let go of Hardy’s jaw and patted his cheek.

“You sick, little _bastard_.” He said with that mismatched smile.

His hand left his throat and returned to his collar. With a heave, Hardy was thrown into the shower stall. His back banged against the wall as Mackie slammed the door shut.

The chains were re-hooked and the padlock relocked.

Then Mackie stalked out the room and Hardy was alone, once more.

  
And only then, his mind still thick with questions and confusion, could he finally breathe.

  
\--

One of the things that was a given, a given sacrifice, was energy both physical and emotional, when one decided to join the law enforcement field.

Ellie knew this full well. She knew how exhausted she’d been through the investigation of the Latimer case, the review of Sandbrook, and all subsequent cases of all sizes.

Police work was severely taxing. To Ellie, this was a fact like the sky being blue and water being wet.

  
But, truly, she’d never felt so tired than she did after today.

It took everything in her to not slump to the floor after she finally, blessedly, was able to leave the CID, comfortable with there being no more work to finish for today. The next steps required analysis of evidence from the crime scene, and some of the more abstract pieces needed time.

There was a smudge on Hardy’s mobile phone that caught Brian’s attention. There was also the spilled motor oil, though that lead seemed far less promising.

Nevertheless, it was evidence, all with information that Ellie would have to wait for.

  
And oh, despite the respite from work, the waiting was agony.

Ellie sighed and closed her eyes, as if by closing her eyes she could shut out reality and return to some blissful plane of existence. Of course, it was a long shot, but it was a nice break.

A break that was interrupted by the delighted squeal of her six-year old, who flung himself at her legs.

“Hi Freddie!” said Ellie with a weary smile.

“Momma’s home! Momma’s home!” cheered Fred.

“Yes, Momma’s home.” She said. “I’m a bit knackered, is takeaway good with you?”

“Fish and chips!”

“We can do fish and chips.” Ellie said, her attention drawn away.

Tom had just skulked into the room, his gaze fixed squarely on his phone. His earbuds were buried in his ears, most likely pumping the audio of some video he was watching.

“Hi Tom.” Said Ellie.

“Hmm.” Responded Tom with a short glance.

Ellie looked at the end table, free of envelopes.

“No mail today?” She asked.

“Forgot to get it.”

“ _Again_? Tom, when was the last time you got it?”

“Don’t know.”

“ _Tom_ , we can’t forget the mail! There could be bills and god knows what else…this is your responsibility!” She said, hands on her hips.

“Fine, I’m sorry! Geez.” Tom snapped as he slid over to the living room.

“Watch the attitude!” scolded Ellie as she groaned.

“He hasn’t gotten the mail all week.” Fred reported proudly. “I know, I saw that.”

“Thanks, Freddie, for telling me, but it’s not something to boast about.” Ellie said softly. “I’ll go get the mail, then we can get dinner.”

Fred nodded and skipped off.

Ellie, once again, left her house and made her way to the mailbox. She unlocked it and was greeted with a wave of letters that fluttered to the ground.

She threw her hands down and sent a sigh to the heavens.

“I can’t deal with this, lord I _can’t_ deal with this…” She muttered as she collected her fallen mail.

She sifted through the mail as she walked back to her front door. Most of the mail was the usual junk, advertisements, a magazine or two. There were a few bills, but luckily most had been sent in the last day or two.

She made a quiet promise that if Tom’s forgetfulness resulted in a missed payment, _he’d_ pick up the bill.

A few fliers with coupons, a few letters regarding credit lines to apply for; nothing out of the usual.

  
Until she reached five envelopes. All unmarked, addressed to her.

She stopped in her driveway.

She set down the rest of the mail and turned the first letter in her hand. She shook it and heard something rattle inside, but nothing granular.

“ _What is my life, that I have to worry about anthrax letters._ ” She thought grimly.

She slid the envelope open and dumped its contents into her hand.

The envelope contained two photographs, polaroid. She turned them over to gaze at their images.

Her blood ran cold.

They were pictures, of _her_. Photos taken from a close distance, possibly from a neighbor’s yard or a car.

There was nothing lewd or provocative, just photos of her about on her daily business. Photos of her bringing dinner to the table, photos of her on the phone, photos of her handling Fred or talking to Tom.

There was nothing written on the photos.

She slipped the photos back into their envelope and, shakily, lowered herself onto her stoop.

She opened the second envelope.

There was more of the same, more photos of her, though a few were of her around town, or near the CID.

She shivered; she hadn’t even guessed, never thought someone was stalking her. Isn’t she a detective? Shouldn’t she be able to sense these things?

The third envelope was opened. It contained more photos.

But these weren’t photos of her.

They were photos of _Hardy_.

Photos of him going to work. Photos of him shopping. Photos of him at home with Daisy.

The fourth and fifth envelopes had more photos of him, with Ellie in a few of them.

Some of the photos were of them working on cases together, sat on her couch. The focus of the photo was fixed, very directly, on the two sitting together.

Others were of them walking back to the station after lunch, teas in hand.

But mostly, they were of Hardy. Alone.

  
The stalker had catalogued nearly his entire, daily routine.

“ _Shit_ …” Ellie hissed as a trembling hand covered her face.

She barely managed to slip the photos back into their envelopes.

They were set beside as she sat there, quaking like a tree in a storm, her eyes watering.

There’d only be one person who’d dare stalk her like this, _and_ stalk Hardy. She’d hoped, she’d hoped beyond hope it wasn’t him.

Her lip quivered as her hands flew into her hair and pulled, hard, as if she could yank the knowledge out of her head.

“BASTARD!” She screamed. “BASTARD, FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK! YOU!”

She tucked her head against her thighs and muttered more screams, far more muffled. She figured her children were already peeking through the windows, all too concerned for their mother.

  
But she needed this. Because he was back.

And she knew that, somehow, he’d gotten Hardy.


	4. Chapter 4

She knew what the photos meant. Partially, it made her reluctant to turn them in, but it was necessary.

These photos, along with their postdates, could provide the clue Wessex Police needed to identify their kidnapper. Ellie knew a few of her neighbors had surveillance systems installed, a few with cameras. If they could review their footage, they might confirm whether Joe was the stalker taking photos of her and Hardy.

  
It was key evidence, something that could crack the case open. But even so, Ellie hesitated as she turned over the photos to DCI Jenkinson.

  
She was pleased, of course. The evidence was a huge breakthrough. But as Jenkinson tented her hands together, Ellie knew what was coming.

“If we can confirm that Joe Miller was the one stalking you and Hardy, you understand that we must take you off the case, yes?” She said.

Ellie nodded.

“I understand, mam.”

Jenkinson gave her a sympathetic look.

“I know this mustn’t be easy,” She said. “and in other circumstances, I’d try to keep you on, maybe not as lead but at least part of the investigation. But after everything fell apart with the Latimer case – “

“I know, mam. Joe Miller has done more than enough to prove himself a danger to the community.” She said. “Least we need is my presence being used to get him off another charge.”

“Especially with him being daring enough to kidnap a detective, if he is the one to have done so.” Jenkinson said grimly. “I’ll send out a few DCs to request surveillance tapes from the identified locations. I’m certain you know this’ll take some time.”

“Right.” Ellie nodded again. “I can do paperwork, finish reports…”

“Perhaps,” said Jenkinson as she removed her glasses. “you should take the day off. Full pay, of course. To take care of Freddie.”

“Well, I could, mam, but I could do work as well.” Ellie asked, confused. “Freddie’s at school anyways.”

“Ellie, I know how dedicated you are to this department, and we’re more than grateful for that.” Jenkinson placated. “But I also know that sometimes, it’s best to take a step back.”

As Ellie bit her lip, Jenkinson gave her a leveled look.

“I’ll put it this way, as much as I hate to.” She said. “If it turns out that Joe Miller is not involved, this might be your last chance to rest before the real shit hits the fan. Before we scramble for leads on whoever might want to harm Hardy and, possibly, you too.”

She then sat back.

“And if it _does_ turn out Joe Miller is involved…I can’t say things will be easy in the near or far future for you.”

“I don’t follow, mam.”

“You do, Ellie.” Sighed Jenkinson. “You know Broadchurch. If Joe Miller is named, _you’ll_ be dragged back into the pit as well.”

Ellie’s face paled.

“I’m sorry. We’ll do what we can to help, and I’ll let you know once we review the tapes.”

Ellie blinked. The DCI’s last words nearly swam by without connecting.

She nodded numbly.

“Thank you, mam.” She said.

  
She then turned and left the office.

  
\--

He hadn’t slept well last night.

It wasn’t particularly surprising. Hardy never slept well anymore but trying to sleep when trapped uncomfortably in a shower stall, unable to move his arms and legs, with the shower head dripping on his forehead every so often, was a herculean feat for any person and even more so for Hardy.

He leaned his head against the tiled wall; the water dripped on his cheek rather than his forehead for a moment of relief. His limbs felt stiff from the lack of movement, and while he tried to twist and pull at his bindings, it wasn’t enough to keep his arms and legs from locking.

After being thrown in last night, neither Joe nor Mackie had stopped by. Without a window, he hardly had an idea how much time had passed. He could only assume it’s been several hours, but how many he wasn’t sure.

He received his first hint when he heard movement in the accommodation. They were cooking again; most likely breakfast then. They were conversing, but he couldn’t make out anything notable.

He knew one of them would come for him soon. As shameful as it was, Hardy partially hoped it was Joe over Mackie.

Joe, he knew his behavior. Joe was easy to read; when he was calm, he was calm. When he looked about to explode, he was probably going to explode a few seconds later, violently, and deadly as now understood.

Mackie, however, was sweet. Calm. Almost friendly. Even as he choked and beat you. Hardy couldn’t predict him as well, save for that one outburst at dinner last night. And somehow, it was far more terrifying to be around him over Joe, something Hardy never thought he’d believe.

Sometime later the bathroom door was unlocked.

Joe’s shadow cut through the light. He didn’t bother to turn on the bathroom light as he approached Hardy.

He said nothing as he unlocked the shower door. He carefully set the chain and padlock aside.

He reached in and pulled Hardy onto his feet.

“Can you walk?” asked Joe.

“Ankles are bound. Bit difficult I’d say.” Hardy responded.

Clumsily, Joe maneuvered himself behind Hardy and, much like Mackie last night, he led Hardy along by the back of his shirt collar. Unlike Mackie, however, Joe wasn’t quite able to lift him, and it became an awkward series of steps and hops until they’d finally exited the bathroom.

Joe led him back towards the pillar and made him sit with his back against it. He secured the collar around his neck. He then walked over and sat at the table, the remnants of breakfast still present in the air and on the dirty table.

Joe remained quiet, his fingers tented together, and his elbows planted on his knees. His heel bounced anxiously as he stared at the ground.

Hardy, for his part, just stared incredulously at Joe. He only looked away to glance around the room. He looked for anything sharp, or heavy, or terrifying in appearance: stereotypical torture implements he’d, unfortunately, become familiar with through his career.

  
But there was nothing. It was truly just him and Joe.

Hardy was first to break the silence. He cleared his throat.

“Well?” He asked.

Joe’s gaze shot up. He looked nervous.

“Well?” He parroted.

“Aren’t you going to get started?”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, don’t act stupid with me, you know what I mean.” Hardy sighed. “I’m tied up, at your mercy. You don’t expect me to believe you did this just to have me sit.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Said Joe firmly. “That’s not the kind of person I am.”

He sat forward.

“I just needed to make sure you wouldn’t escape. I _need_ something from you.”

“That’s what Mackie said.” Nodded Hardy, though his nod was choked by the collar. “Except I don’t know _what_ that something is.”

Joe nodded back.

He sat back once more and sighed. Suddenly, any intimidation that Joe held in his gaze (as little as he had mustered) gave way to exhaustion. He looked at the detective with a pleading, tired look.

“I haven’t slept well in years, Hardy.” He started softly. “I’ve been alone, not a friend, no family. It’s been hell. Can’t even be myself, not fully. I’m tired of hiding.”

“You put this on yourself, Joe. The day you plead not guilty.”

“But I’m _not_ – “Joe started, but he stopped himself.

He closed his eyes, inhaled sharply, then continued.

“I can’t do this. I can’t keep living alone. Not with…everything that happened back then. With the trial. With Danny. I need _closure_ , true closure.”

It took everything within Hardy to bite back the bile, the rage that _Joe Miller_ of all people was wanting “closure”, after everything he put the Latimers through. Hell, after everything he put his own _family_ through.

But he did. Just barely.

“And I can help you with that, _how_?” asked Hardy, dangerously quiet.

Joe looked up at him.

“I need to hear you say it.” He said with a sigh. “Say I’m innocent. Say that the accusations, what the town believes about me, isn’t true. I’m not what they say I am. I didn’t kill Danny. Say it.” He said softly, gently.

Hardy blinked. The words settled in, and he went over them. Joe couldn’t be serious, could he?

“And what makes you think, by any stretch of the imagination, assuming that you even were, that I’d _ever_ say that?” He asked, voice dangerously low.

“You were there. The jury found me innocent.” Joe insisted.

“They couldn’t decisively conclude your guilt. That’s very different.”

“In the eyes of the law, I’m not at fault.” Joe said. “I’m not a monster.”

“You _are_ one, Joe.”

“I am _not_ a monster.” Joe repeated firmly. “Hardy, please, you’re the only one who can grant me my freedom. Everyone in Broadchurch hates me. My boys hate me. _Ellie_ hates me. You can fix this though, El believes you and trusts you. And I’ll let you go if you do.”

“Your _freedom_?” Hardy asked incredulously. “Joe, when you plead not guilty, you denied everyone _their_ freedom. Do you know what the Latimers went through after what you did? Do you?”

Joe’s lips sealed and he directed his gaze away.

“Mark ended up leaving town. Do you know that? He hasn’t come back in over a year. His girls are growing up without their father _because of you_.”

Joe bit his lip.

“Your boys, Tom and Fred, have to live with what you did to Danny. They don’t get a chance to be themselves, don’t get a chance to be just Tom and Fred Miller. They have to grow up as Tom and Fred Miller, whose dad is a paedophilic _murderer_.”

Joe’s hands bunched around his pant legs.

“And Ellie? Bless her she’s strong, but it hasn’t been easy. You didn’t make it easy, but you could’ve made it easier if you spared her that trial. But you didn’t, did you? Because you couldn’t stand the idea of facing everyone who trusted you and seeing them throw you in a cage.”

Joe’s gaze flitted to Hardy and he frowned.

“Don’t you dare say what Ellie needed. _I’m_ her husband.” He gritted out.

“And that makes you the expert now?” Hardy asked with widened eyes. “I guess she really needed you to groom and murder Danny then.”

Joe seized up.

It was a blink and you miss it.

One minute, he was seated at the table.

The other, he had Hardy pinned against the pole, his hands mere centimeters away from his throat.

Hardy had expected this kind of reaction, but it was still startling. Joe was mere inches away from his face, those cold eyes bored into his.

There was so much rage, so much anger, so much fury.

He passively wondered if this is what Danny had to endure in his last, painful moments, but he chased away the thought. It was too much to comprehend.

“ _Stop it_ , _stop it_.” Hissed Joe. “I am not guilty. _Not guilty_. I didn’t murder Danny, I didn’t. I’m an innocent man. It’s _you_ who ruined everything, _destroyed_ everything. Took everything _away from me_. And I swear, you will help me make things right, or I _swear to god_ – “

Joe panted. Hardy stared at him and swallowed dryly.

His pants were halted by a shuddered gasp. Joe’s pupils contracted.

His hands, shakily, left Hardy’s neck.

Trembling, Joe staggered back to his seat. He slumped back into its hold and propped his head up with one hand. The other drummed anxiously at his leg.

“I’m not that. Not that. Not that.” He muttered nervously. “Not anymore.”

Hardy could only watch. Maybe, deep down in the darkest reaches of his consciousness, he felt the smallest flicker of sympathy.

But that flicker was squashed by the memory of Danny’s dead body, and how the man had nearly strangled him mere moments ago.

The door to the deck swung open. Mackie stepped inside.

“Everything alright, Stevie?” He asked.

Joe looked over his shoulder. His gaze gave away everything he was feeling.

Mackie bit his lip and nodded.

“Ah, right. Need me to step in? Is he making things hard again?”

“N-No, just…put him away. Don’t think I’m ready today.” Joe admitted.

Mackie gave a quick nod and strode over to Hardy. He coughed as he crouched down and unbuckled the collar.

As he lifted Hardy onto his feet, he looked at Joe, who looked a little green.  
“Hey lad, it’s alright. We’ve got time, this ain’t easy even considering everything. Trust me, it’ll just take a while.”

Joe looked at him sadly.  
“This feels wrong.” He murmured. “I can’t do this.”

“Give yourself time and patience.” Assured Mackie. “We’ll work on this. You made good progress today.”

Joe didn’t answer. His fingers were pressed into his lips.

“I’ll get him put away. Then we can go fish, I bet the mackerel are biting right now.” Said Mackie with a warm smile.

Joe gave a weak smile back.

Mackie’s smile remained even as he dragged Hardy along.

Hardy’s feet caught slightly on the carpet and created a small channel in the shallow shag.

The bathroom door closed behind them and Mackie sighed as he looked at Hardy.

The smile remained, but the eyes were mismatched and _cold_.

He chuckled softly and shook his head.

The dread built a pit in Hardy’s stomach.

“I told you, I _warned_ you last night. Still just can’t let this be easy, can you?” Mackie said.

He threw Hardy back to the floor, but to the man, it was like he flicked a pebble.

His boot returned to Hardy’s chest and kept him pinned. Hardy moved against the firm pressure and tried to adjust.

“You’re _squirming again_ , what did we say about that?” tsk’d Mackie.

He ground his boot into Hardy’s chest and the detective groaned in response.

“Filthy little _rat_.” Mackie hissed.

“You…y-you said, last night, this was a jo – joint effort.” Hardy wheezed as the boot’s heel scooped under his ribcage. “Y-You’re getting s-something from this.”

“Aye, I am.” Mackie affirmed.

“ _W-What_ ,” Hardy started, before he coughed. “what though? J-Just sadism?”

The firm, cool, wickedly pleasant smile and look on Mackie’s face, wavered.

He shook his head.

“No.” He near whispered.

He lifted his boot.

He brought it back down.

_Hard_.

Hardy yelped and cursed as his chest seized.

Mackie kept his boot down.

He shook his head slowly.

“No, no sadism.” He continued. “I have my own scores to settle.”

He twisted his boot against Hardy’s chest and pulled another groan from him.

“But you are right. This is mostly for Stevie. This is his battle, not mine, but while he settles his nerves, doesn’t mean I won’t take a few swings of my own.”

“Besides,” He said as he lifted his boot.

Hardy laid flat and still on the floor.

Mackie bent down and tugged him upright.

“you still need to learn that being difficult gets you nowhere. I can do that at least; make this easier for Stevie.”

He opened the shower door and threw Hardy inside.

He shut the door and relocked the lock. He tugged the chain attached to it and turned around.

“N-Not his name.” Hardy coughed. “He’s not Stevie.”

Mackie stalled at the door.

“His name…is J-Joe Miller. Joe Miller, from Broadchurch.” Hardy managed.

Mackie paused. He looked down, almost thoughtful.

Then he left and locked the door behind him.

  
\--

The answer came faster than she would’ve liked.

  
Forensics dusted the photographs and found fingerprints that didn’t match hers. They ran them through their records and, yes, found a match.

With one Joseph Miller.

The neighbors were rather reasonable as well in offering access to their surveillance programs. The DCs combed through the footage corresponding to the dates printed on the back of the photos.

A camera, pointed to the back of a neighbor’s home and capturing part of Ellie’s yard too, caught the image of a taller man in a dark hoodie. He was stalking around Ellie’s backyard.

There were brief flashes of light in the footage, erasing any doubts of who it could be.

  
It wasn’t confirmation of who abducted Hardy, but it placed Joe as their strongest suspect.

  
Ellie was off the case by dinnertime.

She returned home and shut the door behind her.

She stood there, for a while, her back pressed against the wood. Her bags from the shop slipped to the floor.

There was noise in the kitchen.

She briefly spotted Tom haunting the hallways, scrounging the fridge for drinks.

Freddie shrieked with delight in the living room.

The telly was on. Evening cartoons, probably one of Freddie’s Marvel shows.

  
It was all so normal.

She should be thankful, but instead it felt so wrong.

Doesn’t the world change when things happen? Shouldn’t something look wrong, something look out of place?

Surely something would be off after your murderous ex-husband potentially kidnaps your boss.

  
Yet nothing.

  
Life as usual in the Miller household.

She could hear fumbling in the living room. Freddie darted into the hallway and skidded to a stop.

“Mumma!” He cried happily as he crashed into her legs.

She forced a smile.

“Hi love, had a good day at school?”

“Uh huh.” Affirmed Freddie as he glanced around her. “Where’s Duncle Alec? It’s dinnertime.”

The blood drained from Ellie’s face.

“He’s…not going to join us tonight.” She said softly. She hoped her face didn’t betray her.

“Why?” asked Fred, head cocked to the side, full of innocence.

Ellie bit her lip. She wasn’t sure Fred was ready. Hell, she wasn’t sure _she_ was ready to acknowledge their reality.

“He’s having dinner with Daisy. Dad and daughter night out.” She said quickly.

“Aww.” Fred pouted.

She ruffled her son’s hair.

“Come on, how does pizza sound? Mumma’s a bit too tired to cook.”

The disappointment evaporated from the boy’s face. He looked giddy as he nodded wildly and bounced on his heels.

“Right little monster let’s go call up Mario’s!” said Ellie as she scooped her son into her arms.

Fred squealed in delight.

The pizza was ordered, delivered, and eaten in short order. Ellie thanked her lucky stars that Tom didn’t question Hardy’s absence.

It was all casual, all normal. The boys talked about their days. Well, Freddie babbled while Tom mumbled short replies.

Ellie, for her part, listened. She didn’t call out Tom’s rudeness and barely corrected Freddie’s table manners.

When dinner was finished, the boys left their plates in the sink and hustled off to their rooms.

  
Ellie was left with her thoughts, and the weight of the day.

It sank into her, suddenly, reality no longer willing to wait.

Joe might be back. Scratch that, he _was_ back. He’d been stalking her and her family, violating their privacy, for _weeks_.

She’d never known.

And now, he might’ve grabbed Hardy.

She couldn’t remember when she started shaking, or when the nausea began bubbling in her stomach.

She heaved and clung to the table. She forced her eyes shut and made herself breathe; she refused to throw up.

But the thought of Joe being that close, that near her and the boys, with her none the wiser, only churned her stomach further.

She barely made it to the toilet.

With a flush, Ellie sat on the floor, unable and unwilling to get up.

It was like someone set a thousand pounds on her lap and in her head.

She felt drained, wiped, fatigued.

Couldn’t even cry.

  
So, she sat there instead, not crying. Just staring.

  
For nearly an hour, that’s all she could manage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so first of all omg thanks SO MUCH for the amazing comments!!!! it rly makes my day to read how much people are enjoying this story so THANK YOU
> 
> second i should've said it earlier but UPDATES! i try to update every 4-5 days w/ updates closer together for shorter chapters since not all are 5K so i hope you all still enjoy what comes next!


	5. Chapter 5

Joe didn’t interrogate him again for that day.

Hardy remained in the bathroom, alone with the shower’s dripping that only left him more frustrated. The last time Mackie had thrown him inside the stall, the shower head rattled in response.

Ever since then, it’d kept _drip_ , _drip_ , dripping.

Rhythmically, against Hardy’s forehead.

At a faster interval than before.

As if he needed something to make his predicament more unpleasant.

He was pulled from the bathroom twice more, both times by Mackie, at lunch and dinner.

Both times, he was dragged out and strapped to the pole.

Both times, they attempted to feed him from the ends of their utensils.

Both times, he ardently refused their offerings.

“He’ll surely starve.” Noted Joe.

“He won’t. He’ll have to accept food eventually.” Mackie answered.

Hardy was certain he wouldn’t.

After each meal he was returned to the bathroom. He wasn’t sure whether to count himself lucky that, aside from the morning, Mackie had been much more careful returning him to the shower stall.

Not that it did much to quell the rising pain in his ribs and chest. Rough coughs and winces punctuated every other breath.

At the meals, Joe and Mackie barely acknowledged he was there, save to attempt to feed him.

  
That point shouldn’t bother him. It should make him grateful.

It wasn’t like Hardy considered himself a social animal.

Quite the opposite.

He functioned fine enough on his own on a normal day.

Throughout his career he’d spent notable amounts of time isolated in his office, pouring over evidence and reviewing tapes.

Had something changed?

Now the sudden loss, the loss of casual conversation without interrogation, left him empty.

He supposed something had.

He knew it had that last night, when he fatefully chose to walk up those cliffs rather than inhabit a darkened house.

“ _Fat lot of good that change did._ ” He thought with a grim smirk. “ _That’s what being a people person does, leaves you open to kidnapping_.”

Who was there to blame then?

Ellie had been pressing him to integrate more thoroughly in Broadchurch’s community.

  
He stopped.

The train of thought had stopped at the Miller station again.

He shook his head. This wasn’t his stop.

He refused to go down that trail he’d been following before his abduction.

He’d have to think of someone else.

  
So, he did, though it did little to help.

He thought about Daisy. He hoped she was having fun with Tess, and hopefully not fretting over him.

He’d be fine. He wished he could somehow tell her that.

Though he knew that she’d call him a liar.

That thought made him chuckle.

He thought about Tess. He hoped she was well and took care of Daisy, if they were aware of his current situation.

He found himself thinking of the townsfolk. Maggie and her YouTube venture, Jocelyn enjoying her retirement, the empty church where Paul once inhabited, Nigel Carter in his truck, Beth and her daughters.

He wasn’t even sure he particularly _liked_ everyone he thought about.

  
But he thought of them, all the same.

  
“ _Thought you said you hate it here._ ”

“ _I do…mostly. I guess I realized home wasn’t where I thought it was._ ”

  
It settled painfully in his heart and sparked an ache.

Blast it, Broadchurch was home, and he missed it.

And of course, it trailed back to Ellie.

She was unavoidable, a persistent echo in his thoughts and his recent memories, the piece of normalcy after the disaster that was Sandbrook.

He bit his lip.

He couldn’t avoid it.

He missed her. Missed his _friend_.

Missed his –

  
His breathing grew shallow, he could feel the tears pricking at his eyes. He gritted his teeth and muttered lowly.

No way in hell would he cry. Not now.

…

The bathroom door opened.

Hardy’s eyes flitted to the flooding light and he squinted.

The figure approached. They were smaller than Joe and Mackie.

They had long hair composed of tiny curls, tied into a low ponytail. They wore an orange anorak, slacks, and sensible shoes.

They were even carrying a scotch egg.

“Oh, bloody hell…” Hardy muttered as his forehead sunk against his knees.

Ellie crossed the room and leaned against the wall.

“Good day to you too, sir.” She said.

Hardy sharply exhaled.

“Go away.”

Ellie hmphed and sunk to the floor, her shoulder pressed against the shower glass.

“Thought you’d be happy to see me after everything. Scotch egg?” She said as she held it out.

Hardy shook his head against his knees and didn’t look up.

“You’re not real. Can’t possibly be real. I’m on a goddamn boat in the middle of the ocean, you _aren’t_ here.” He muttered feverishly.

“You’re such a tosser, I _swam_ all the way out here you know! Just to keep you company.”

Hardy stiffened and finally looked up. He eyed her clothing.

He internally kicked himself for even _entertaining_ that this hallucination was telling the truth.

“You bloody liar, your clothes are dry.” He muttered.

The Not-Ellie smirked.

“And I don’t think I could swim that far even if I _wanted_ to, but yeah, my clothes are dry. Great detective work there.”

Hardy sighed and his head back against his knees.

“You were hoping though, weren’t you? Even that impossible, you hoped.” She said quietly.

“I’m losing my mind already.” He muttered. “Two days and I’ve lost my marbles.”

“To be fair, sir, it’s been a long two days.” She said. “Physical trauma plenty, not much sleep, no food. Not to mention psychological shite. This whole place is a cocktail for hallucinations.”

“Great investigative prowess; are you finished?” asked Hardy.

Not-Ellie’s mouth closed into a frown.

“Hmm, good to hear you’re as grumpy as ever.”

“I’m tied up and imprisoned in a shower in the middle of the ocean. This isn’t exactly Disneyland, Miller.”

“You hate Disneyland though.” Not-Ellie grinned. “Too smiley for you.”

“Shut up, Miller, you know what I mean.”

Not-Ellie smirked as she took a bite of her egg. Said smirk faded afterwards.

“How are you managing?”

Hardy looked at her questioningly.

“With the whole ocean thing.” She continued. “I remember that day, we were investigating Mark’s boat. You looked terrified on the dingy.”

Hardy’s face hardened, and his eyes drifted down slowly.

“Don’t want to talk about it.” He said quietly.

“What else would we do then?” She asked pointedly.

“Talk about anything else. Something. Just not the elephant surrounding me for thousands of miles in all directions.” Hardy snapped, his voice draining as the thought settled into his mind.

Not-Ellie nodded slowly and sat back again. She bit into her scotch egg.

“How are Tom and Fred?” asked Hardy.

“’Fraid I know as much as you do.” Not-Ellie said apologetically.

“Right.” Hardy sighed.

Ellie rolled the egg in her hand.

He smirked and chuckled quietly.

“I’d ask about the investigation, but I suppose the answer’s the same.” He said.

“You think they’d _let_ Ellie on the investigation?” asked Not-Ellie.

Hardy frowned, his nose scrunched. He turned to look at her.

“She’s the DS.”

“She’s also Joe’s ex-wife.” Not-Ellie added grimly.

“They don’t know he did this.”

“There could be a conflict of interest.”

“What conflict?” asked Hardy frustratedly.

“You have dinner at her house, sir.” Not-Ellie sighed.

“It’s completely platonic.” Hardy defended.

“Right. And the defense mentioned how platonic it was when they brought up her visit to your hotel room.” Not-Ellie retorted, her tone wanting to be sarcastic, but was instead tired.

The light in Hardy’s eyes flickered. The energy slumped out of his face and his pupils fell to the floor. He shuffled in his spot uncomfortably.

“You know I’m right, Hardy.”

Hardy grunted.

The Not-Ellie smiled weakly.

“You did think me up because you miss things. She thinks up the stuff you miss.”

“Yeah, and I’m regretting that right now.” He grumbled.

Not-Ellie sunk against the glass.

“They’ll put someone else on the case. They’ll find you.” She said.

“Miller would be better.” He argued.

“You don’t know that.”

“I _know_ Miller.” He said as he looked the vision in the eyes. “She’s unlike any DS, hell any force member I’ve met. She thinks outside the box, she’s grown into someone with the perfect balance between analysis and empathy. If anyone would find me, _alive_ , it’d be her.”

The Not-Ellie blinked.

“She’s great at her job.” Added Hardy. “I should’ve told her that more.”

“Well, if I didn’t know better, I’d almost say you’re fond of her.” She quipped.

Hardy’s lips sealed. He shifted and turned so his face was averted.

“Are you?” She asked.

“Not now, Miller.” He muttered weakly.

Not-Ellie remained. She scrutinized him.

“Alright, sir.” She finally answered.

Hardy near sighed in relief.

The two sat together in silence. The Not-Ellie munched on her scotch egg. Hardy remained with his face away from her.

She sat back.

“I’m guessing you’ve tried escaping already.” Said Ellie.

“Yup, soon as I woke up here. Almost got away too, but I…” Hardy said as he shook his head. “…damnit, I _panicked_.”

“It’s perfectly understandable.”

“What detective panics about the _ocean_?”

“A human one. Sorry to tell you, but I’m pretty sure you’re a human.”

That brought a small smirk to Hardy’s face.

“I mean, there was a pool. Dirty Brian guessed you might be from Mars.” She said.

“Ach, why there? There’re more planets than _Mars_.” Hardy rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t be from there.”

“Oh, please _excuse me_. Too high-and-mighty for Mars? Alpha Centauri more your style?” Not-Ellie said dramatically.

Hardy let a smile appear, but not for long.

“I don’t have many options, Miller.” He said. “I’m bound, and I can’t break the glass. Only windows are when Mackie comes to collect me.”

“And he’s a big one.” She noted.

Hardy nodded.

“That makes it tough.” She thought as she tapped her chin.

She snapped her fingers.

  
“Maybe you have leverage on them?” She suggested.

Hardy stared at her with a look.

“Miller, how the hell could _I_ have leverage on them? I’m the sitting duck here.”

Ellie thought for a while. Her eyes lit up.

“Joe wants something out of you. Use that.”

“How?”

“Tell him you’ll say what he wants, but only if he does something _you_ want. He’s desperate and a bloody coward, he should comply.” She said.

“But what _do_ I want from him?” asked Hardy.

“Something small. Maybe fresh air.” She said. “You have been stuffed below deck for the last few days.”

“But after that?”

“Joe is big, but he’s not particularly strong.” Not-Ellie continued. “Even tied up like a sausage, you could beat him. Especially if he trusts you.”

“Then?”

Ellie looked away in thought.

“There’s probably a radio.” She noted. “Or maybe a switch…send out a distress signal.”

“Is there a boat close enough that I wouldn’t be dead before they arrived?”

“Sir, I don’t _know_.” Not-Ellie sighed exasperatedly. “But wouldn’t it be better than sitting here, waiting for Joe to get the balls to torture you?”

Hardy bit his lip.

“Please, sir,” Not-Ellie said with weary eyes. “at least try. You’re clever, you could work something on the fly.”

Hardy couldn’t look away. She wasn’t real, he knew that, but her gaze was earnest, just like hers.

Had he seen it enough to imagine it, perfectly?

He sighed.

“I’ll try.” He said.

Not-Ellie nodded.

“Thank you.” She said.

“For?” he asked, a brow quirked.

“Not giving up.” She said. “You know no one would forgive you, especially _her_ , if they somehow discovered you gave up before they found you.”

“Well, can’t have _that_.” Hardy rolled with sarcasm.

Not-Ellie didn’t laugh.

“ _You_ can’t.” She noted quietly. “Don’t pretend you don’t care, knob.”

Hardy’s smile faded.

She got up.

“I’ll let you rest.” She said.

Words rested on Hardy’s tongue, a request, a plea, what he wanted.

Instead, he answered, “Okay.”

And Not-Ellie exited.

  
Hardy was alone once more, a dripping shower to keep him company.

And an escape plan that was so crazy, it might work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter but promise next one in 3-4 days!


	6. Chapter 6

It was all so surreal.

  
Ellie remembered, what felt like a century ago, the day when Hardy made the public statement regarding Danny’s murder. She wasn’t there, but she was still part of the investigation. She was still a detective, still within the collective working to solve his murder and settle a disrupted community.

Now, however, she had to experience the civilian perspective.

She definitively didn’t like it.

She thanked her lucky stars that Fred was still too young to truly understand what was happening. He kept himself occupied with his toys, only partially hearing the drone of the local news station.

For Ellie, her attention was glued to it.

The Detective Inspector assigned to Hardy’s case stood at the podium. She was a fearsome woman, somewhere in her late fifties, with a smart haircut and pressed suit. Frown lines bore deep into her face and her eyes reflected cool precision.

The ticker at the bottom of the screen named her as DI Margot Flint, from Surrey.

Next to her, identified by the newscaster, was her DS, one Blake Parsons. He was thoroughly tan with rough cut, dark hair. His suit was a mess of wrinkles and creases. Nevertheless, he stood at attention, his gaze occasionally darting to his superior.

Her voice was proper, cool, and impersonal.

It set Ellie on edge immediately. She sympathized with poor Daisy, who’d probably been updated by the woman.

“ _On the ninth of September, we were notified that Detective Inspector Alec Hardy had been unaccounted for the last 48 hours. We’ve formally opened a missing person’s case with suspected abduction as a cause. The Broadchurch CID is working alongside the Surrey police force, with DS Blake Parsons and myself assigned as leading investigators_.”

Oh lord, it was all so real, so suddenly.

Ellie was glad she was sitting, otherwise she might’ve reeled.

Cameras flashed and a reporter piped up.

“ _Do you have any leads as of now?_ ”

DI Margot Flint nodded.

“ _We have a few leads; people present around DI Hardy’s residence near the time of his disappearance. We are unable to divulge any further information at this time, but we assure Broadchurch that we will do everything in our power to bring DI Hardy’s abductor to justice._ ”

Ellie tried not to, grimly, note that DI Flint never promised _Hardy’s_ safe return.

“ _Is anyone from the Latimer or Sandbrook case considered a potential connection to DI Hardy’s disappearance?_ ”

Ellie saw the DS visibly swallow at this question. A dead giveaway she only hoped was missed by the reporters.

“ _We are investigating all potential leads, so yes, any individual connected with those particular cases will be ruled on as well. However, we still have no primary lead at this time._ ”

This only spurred further camera flashes and flurries of questions.

“ _DI Flint! Do you believe that Lee Ashworth might have orchestrated the abduction from prison?_ ”

“ _Is it possible this was a revenge-fueled scheme?_ ”

“ _Do you believe Joe Miller was involved?_ ”

  
Ellie shut off the telly.

She tossed the remote aside and sunk back into the couch. Her hair, messy and dirty, fell into her face.

Fred looked up from his game.

“Are you okay, mumma?” He asked.

She closed her eyes and nodded slowly.

“Yeah, I’m fine, love. Just tired.” She answered.

Freddie looked at his toys again.

“That lady was scary.” He noted.

Ellie chuckled.

“Yeah, she is.”

Freddie drove a truck into an idle car.

“Will they find Duncle Alec?” He asked.

Ellie froze. Her face went white.

She glanced at her child, who was still playing with his toys without care.

“I…I, uh, hope so.” She answered, not considering whether this would upset Fred.

Fred simply nodded, however.

“When Duncle Alec comes back, we’ll play Legos.” He said. “And eat pancakes. I like pancakes. Duncle Alec likes them with strawberries. Can we have strawberries?”

Ellie’s heart nearly broke. Oh, little Freddie. The concept that Hardy might not come home wasn’t even a possibility to him.

And lord help her, she was going to keep that innocence in him as long as she could.

“Of course, love. We’ll have _all_ the strawberries. So many strawberries, you’ll get sick of them.” She said; her eyes glistened against her will.

Freddie’s eyes grew wide.

“That’s a lot of strawberries.” He said in a near whisper.

“It is love.” She said as she stood. “But for now, it’s nap time. Let’s clean up your toys.”

Fred pouted momentarily, but eventually assented. He gathered his toys and dumped them, unceremoniously, into the toy basket in the corner.

“Freddie,” Ellie sighed. “try to treat your toys with some respect, okay?”

Fred barely listened, it seemed; the other toys were shoved into the basket similarly before he trotted off to his room.

Ellie shook her head and disassembled the mess of toys. She carefully started to reorganize, actions figures atop trucks, with the basket topped with stuffed animals.

“ _God, when did we collect this many toys?_ ” She thought as she struggled with a few plush toys.

One toy protested and threw itself out of the basket.

She took the toy and stuffed it back in.

It popped back out.

She sighed exasperatedly and stuffed it in again.

Again, it popped out.

She glared at the toy, a stuffed tiger, and near strangled it as she grabbed it.

She started to stuff it back into the basket, but its plushy nature allowed it to continually squeeze itself from the confined corner.

“Oh, fuck you, you _stupid_ thing, stay in there or I will -!” Ellie started to yell.

She stopped. The tiger stayed still, as if it could understand her.

The tag had caught her attention.

_Edinburgh Zoo_

She’d never been there, hadn’t travelled to Edinburgh. Where did this come from?

Then she remembered.

On one of the few occasions that Hardy had taken his holiday, he’d gone out to Edinburgh to visit relatives with Daisy. He’d returned and nearly tossed the gift bag on her keyboard.

“ _What’s all this then?_ ” _She’d asked._

_He’d shrugged._

_“Went to the Edinburgh Zoo.”_

_“Didn’t take you for an animal lover.” Said Ellie as she’d rummaged through the bag._

_“I’m not. But Daiz loved going to the zoo as a kid. Thought I’d take her there again.”_

_As Ellie pulled the toy from the bag, Hardy had asked her:_

_“Wee Fred still likes tigers?”_

He had, and he still does.

That was possibly the first time, per her memory, that Hardy had really shown that he’d cared enough about her boys to not just remember their names, but their interests.

That was around the time him and Daisy started coming over more frequently for dinner.

Ellie picked the plush tiger out of the basket, her hold gentler and more apologetic.

She brushed its fur flat and fixed its crooked whiskers. She held it in her hands.

Its amber, near brown eyes stared back.

A sigh flowed from closed lips as she pressed the toy to them. She closed her eyes and tried to still herself, to keep whatever was welling within her from spilling out.

Much more carefully, she set the toy tiger atop the toy basket. It stayed there, almost guarding the collection.

  
She sat there, legs tucked behind her, her mind in a slight fog.

For some reason, it stuck with her. That moment of Hardy caring for her boys.

It wasn’t anything big, she’d like to think, but in many ways it was.

The Hardy beneath all the gruff and grumpiness.

The one she’d seen before, but for the first time truly directed at her children.

Her whole world.

The tiger’s eyes stared at her still.

She sighed.

Despite herself, she reached out and patted the toy’s head, as if somehow it could feel her, perhaps send her scrambled thoughts to Hardy, wherever he was.

_If_ he was, still, wherever he was.

She shuddered.

  
A series of knocks woke her from her thoughts.

She stumbled away from the toy and back onto her feet. She drew her cardigan close as she strode to the front door.

She hesitated at the handle.

She remembered the photos, the images of her stolen in private moments.

Her brain supplied the image of Joe standing behind the door.

It chilled her blood.

“El? It’s Beth.”

And her nerves settled down. Ellie sighed frustratedly and shook off her fear.

Deadbolt unlocked, she was greeted by Beth, dressed in a teal peacoat.

She looked distressed, her gaze oozing with sympathy.

“I saw the announcement.” She said softly. Her hands were tucked in her pockets.

Ellie paused, for a moment confused, then realized. Yeah, that had happened.

“Right.” She could only answer.

“I’m so sorry, El.” Said Beth. “I’m guessing you’re on leave, then?”

“Yeah.” Said Ellie with a slow nod.

“I’m so sorry.” Offered Beth. “If there’s anything I could do to help…”

“No, no, thank you, but I’m…we’re managing.” Ellie said with a weak smile.

Beth blinked.

“Right.” She said. “You are, are you?”

“Course.” Ellie shrugged.

“Just, you know, it’s _Hardy_. Gone missing.”

“Yeah.”

“You know, Hardy?” asked Beth with a look. “Your…friend?”

“ _Boss_.” Corrected Ellie. “Friend, maybe.”

“Oh please, El.” Sighed Beth.

“Can’t tell with that man.” Ellie frowned. “The knob, could know him for years but not be mates.”

“I know this is a difficult time, and accepting that you care about him would make it harder, but being in denial – “

“Oh, save it, Beth. I’m _fine_. Hardy is my boss, that’s it.” Ellie sighed roughly with a headshake.

Beth stared, quietly, with a simmering anger frosted by professionalism. Her arms crossed as she gestured with her head.

“Is it Joe?” She asked softly.

Ellie froze.

“I’m sorry, I just need to know.” She said.

Ellie chewed her lip. Her own hands tucked into her armpits.

“I assumed when you weren’t at the announcement – “

“They’re not sure.” Ellie finally answered. “I can’t say more, but they’re following him as a lead. There’s…evidence he might be involved.”

“Christ.” Beth answered in hushed horror. Her hands cupped over her mouth.

Ellie nodded and glanced at Beth with chilled irritation.

“Are we done then?” She asked briskly.

Beth looked for a moment with no answer. She sighed and her expression softened.

“I-I’m sorry, El, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Ellie answered, her voice frigid.

Beth winced. She averted her gaze to gather herself before her eyes returned to Ellie, full of hurt.

“I think I should go.” She said. “I can come back later, or…or maybe just call me. You know, if you need to talk to someone. When you’re ready.”

Ellie deflated. The guilt settled in instantly and she really hated herself for her reaction.

She was treating Beth like she didn’t, _couldn’t_ know how this all felt. To be in this position.

But that was so, _so stupid_.

Beth knew better than she ever could.

All because of her ex-husband.

Ellie swallowed thickly as Beth turned away.

“I-I’m sorry, Beth.” She finally said. “What I said, it was uncalled for. I’m sorry.”

Beth stopped and looked back, expression understanding.

“It’s fine. I wish I could tell you it gets better, but…”

“It doesn’t.” Ellie finished.

Beth nodded with a strained smile.

“Might want to draw the curtains.” She said with a gesture to the windows. “You know journalists.”

“And Ollie’s back in town.” Ellie groaned. “Thanks, I’ll keep them closed.”

“Best of luck, El. And again, call me if you need to talk.” Beth said as she finally took her leave.

  
Ellie closed the door behind her, quietly to not disturb the napping Fred.

Before the heaviness could settle back into her, she strode to the windows and snapped the drapes shut.

Natural light shut out, the house was dark and stifling. Ellie felt swallowed and strangled by the atmosphere, her once cozy home, once made a ghost by Joe’s touch, now her prison once again, possibly, by Joe’s hand.

Her teeth dug into her lip and drew blood.

She wasn’t sure it was possible to hate a man so much.

  
She forced herself into the kitchen. There was cleaning to be done.

At least that’d be a productive action over steaming for the next few hours.


	7. Chapter 7

Hardy heard the bathroom door unlock.

He watched a shadow slice through the outside light, and he sat himself upright.

Joe had come to collect him.

The shower stall unlocked, and he reached inside. He grabbed Hardy’s shoulders and led him outside.

He was sat down, and the collar secured around his neck once again. The leather felt especially rough on his skin and he hissed; Hardy hadn’t considered the possibility that a burn might’ve been left behind from the constant rubbing and pulling.

Like the other day, Joe sat down across from him. He looked less tense this time as he rested his chin against his fist.

For a moment, he simply sat there silently.

He drew a sharp inhale and sighed.

“Feeling more cooperative today?” He asked.

“Might be.” Hardy answered simply.

Joe’s lips thinned and his heel began to bounce.

“Let’s try then. You know what I want to hear.” He said patiently.

“Not quite.” Hardy said with a thick swallow. “I need some insurance.”

Joe stared at him for a solid minute. The look on his face screamed exasperation just restrained.

“Insurance.” He repeated.

Hardy sat back and stared him down.

“If I gave you what you wanted,” He said with level voice. “how do I know you won’t just kill me right afterwards?”

Joe shook his head furiously.

“No. No, I wouldn’t kill you. You have my word; you won’t die if you cooperate.”

“See, I’d _like_ to believe you Joe,” Hardy sighed. “but we aren’t on the best terms, to put it lightly. I need proof.”

Joe ran a stressed hand over his smooth head.

“Like what?” He hazarded.

Hardy steeled himself as he spoke his request.

“Bring me outside.” He said. “Would like some fresh air.”

Joe stared at him in disbelief.

“You’d…want that?” He asked. “You nearly fainted the last time you were up on deck. The ocean’s still there you know.”

“I _know_ ,” Hardy swallowed. “but I’ve been cramped in that shower for, what, a few days now? I know I can’t be choosy, and I’m going stir-crazy.”

Joe scrutinized him.

“Just a few minutes, it’s all I ask.”

Joe stared, hard.

Hardy could feel the heat of his judgement, the search for any bullshitting that might be present. Hardy only hoped his weariness wouldn’t give him away.

“Not buying it.” Joe finally frowned. “You tell me here, or I throw you back in the shower.”

Hardy stifled a sigh. He needed to remain resilient, or he’d never get his chance.

He re-entered his detective mode.

“You wouldn’t do that.” He said quietly.

“Watch me.” Joe warned.

“You wouldn’t.” repeated Hardy. “Otherwise, you’d have done so already. You wouldn’t have Mackie doing it for you.”

Joe winced.

Hardy sat up as much as he could. The collar bit into his skin.

“Be honest with yourself, Joe.” He said softly, earnestly. “You hate this, don’t you?”

Joe crossed his arms and looked away.

“This isn’t you.” Hardy continued. “You said it yourself. You’re not a monster. But you want something from me, so you’re here.”

“You know what I want.” Joe muttered.

“Yeah,” Hardy nodded, and he tried to ignore how his head spun at the action. “but I’m a detective, Joe. Part of my job is analysis, and your little plan is just not adding up.”

Joe’s gaze lifted, ever so slightly. It settled on a space to Hardy’s left.

“Tell me Joe, this plan, it’s not yours is it? You really think this will all work?” asked Hardy, so quiet, so private.

Joe bit his lip, hard. He sucked in a hissed breath. His eyes glistened.

“I _have_ to try something, Hardy. I lost everything that day.” He said, voice thick. “My boys, my Ellie. I want them back, _need_ them back.”

He finally looked at Hardy.

“It’s like I said, El trusts you. I know that at least.” Joe said with the barest venom. “Your _words_ , they mean something. If you just say it, say I’m innocent, then maybe El will take me back.”

His hands wrung together.

“We can be together again, put this nightmare behind us.” Joe continued. “I’ll have my family back. It’ll be good, it’ll be _good_.”

Hardy had expected some pushback, some level of resistance from Joe concerning his true motives, but to his surprise, it seemed that this _was_ his true motive. He really believed this would work, that he’d get his family back.

Joe was deluded, that was obvious, to think Ellie would take him back after everything that happened.

He could, and wanted, to say something blunter. Something that would destroy that monster’s little blissful bubble and bring him crashing back to reality, the reality _he_ created.

But if he wanted freedom, he’d have to play along, no matter how much it churned his stomach.

“Would be.” Hardy started.

He chewed his lip.

“She…misses you, you know.” He hazarded.

This immediately caught Joe’s attention. His face snapped to look at Hardy, red, blotchy, brimming with tears.

“W-What?” He said.

“Yup.” Hardy confirmed, his voice strained.

Joe blinked in disbelief. A few tears rolled down his cheeks.

“She’s trying, lord knows she’s trying. But she needs you.” Hardy said.

God, if any of this reached Miller, he’d owe her chocolates for a decade, _for life_.

“Christ…” Joe gasped as he covered his mouth. The tears flowed fast.

“Hard for her. Single mum. Fred is getting big.”

“Freddie…he’d be six…” Joe mumbled.

Hardy nodded.

“Tom too. Quite a young man now.” Hardy said. “They’re both growing up fast. She’s feeling it and needs someone. Needs you.”

Joe was sobbing at this point. His face was buried in his hands and his back heaved in unapologetic weeping.

Hardy dared himself to lean forward, as much as the collar allowed him.

“See Joe, you don’t need to do this. This isn’t necessary because they want you back.” He said softly. “But I’ll still tell you what you want. Just please, a little fresh air.”

Joe sniffed and looked up, his eyes red.

“Please.” Hardy said, his own voice thick.

Joe wiped his nose and looked down thoughtfully. He threaded his fingers together.

He eventually nodded.

“Okay.” He said. “For El. She wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t allow you this, at least.”

That seemed to pull a short chuckle from him. To humor him, Hardy forced himself to chuckle as well.

He crossed over to Hardy and carefully undid the collar.

He brought Hardy onto his feet and led him towards the doorway. They made good progress until they reached the steps.

“Not sure if I can lift you up those right now.” Joe noted.

“I could walk up on my own.” Suggested Hardy.

Joe’s face cooled for a moment.

“You still have me bound. It’s temporary, remember?” Hardy said quickly.

This seemed to appease Joe. He nodded and, producing a pocketknife, he cut away Hardy’s ankle ropes.

The sudden lack of tension on Hardy’s ankles felt glorious, with said relief only hampered by the lingering soreness and the burning against his skin. He knew that he at least had rope burn. The possibility of long-term injury wasn’t particularly soothing.

But he knew that was for future Hardy.

With his ankles free, Joe walked Hardy up the steps and swung the door open.

Hardy squinted at the bright sunlight that flooded his face, and he flinched at the volume of the ocean’s waves and the cries of seagulls.

A salty, cool air brushed the hair from his brow.

He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and breathed deeply. The musty staleness was drained from his lungs, replaced with the freshness of the outdoors. Oh, it was heavenly, in a way that the ocean air never was for Hardy.

Joe walked him a few feet away from the door.

Out of the shadows, Hardy took in the warmth of the afternoon sun. He made himself promise to never take it for granted again.

“Alright.” Joe said as he took a moment to wipe away his remaining tears. “You’re out now. Just say it, and we can be done with all this.”

Hardy paused.

Right, no time to soak in the window of freedom.

He nodded and cleared his throat as Joe turned him to face him.

Hardy looked him dead in the eyes, a seriousness in his gaze. He cocked his head a slight angle.

He took in Joe’s expectation, his anticipation.

Hardy ground it under gritted teeth.

He’d eyed his surroundings, set his feet. He was ready.

He hissed out three simple words:

“Go. To. _Hell_.”

It took Joe aback, _seriously_ aback. Hardy could tell, the man hesitated and seemed to stall in processing his words.

Good, all the better for him.

Hardy hauled back and shoved a kick into Joe’s stomach.

Joe keeled, bent halfway forward, as he stumbled back. He stood in time to knock into a hanging life preserver, which fell and rolled across the deck.

Hardy dared another kick.

This was to Joe’s left shin.

His captor screamed and toppled to his knees; his hands clenched at his leg.

Hardy was satisfied. He turned and fled.

He’d seen it that other day. The bridge was easy enough to find, but the door was another story.

But he felt it was close.

This was confirmed quickly as Hardy darted across the deck.

But not in the way he wished.

The heavy metal door was flung open and clanged against the wall.

Out stepped Mackie. His eyes were wide, and his pupils searched.

They fixed upon Joe first, still laid out on the ground, then to Hardy.

“What the hell is going on out here?!” shouted Mackie. “What did you _do_ , Hardy?”

Hardy, for a moment, was frozen.

He was stuck between that proverbial rock and a hard place.

Mackie was built like a bear, if that bear was made of concrete and bricks.

He towered over Hardy; to try and contest him in anything of strength would surely be a suicide mission.

Hardy crooked his mouth grimly.

He was short of options.

“ _Well, I’ve faced death before._ ” He thought. “ _Nothing new._ ”

Then he charged him.

  
Hardy had the advantage of surprise, so when he threw another kick at Mackie’s midsection, he wasn’t instantly swiped aside by the man’s meaty paw.

No, his strike landed, and seemed to at least stun the other captor.

The oxygen in Mackie’s lungs were forced out, and the man gasped and coughed.

There was a gap, thin and surely short-lived.

Hardy took it and squirreled past the quickly recovering Mackie.

With his assailants temporarily out of the way, Hardy was greeted by the just as intimidating sight of dozens of foreign switches, lights, buttons, and levers. The bridge wasn’t particularly huge, but still housed plenty of controls that Hardy had not the faintest of how to use.

He shook his head. He just needed the radio, that’s all.

Send out a distress signal. The other boat would do the rest of the work.

After that, it’s just the issue of keeping alive until they arrive.

He surveyed the bridge. The litany of buttons and lights near blinded him, overwhelmed him.

But he spotted it, across the room. A simple radio with a coiled cord.

He started towards it when a slam stopped him in his tracks.

He turned slowly, unwillingly, on his heels.

The door was shut. Standing in front of it was Mackie.

He looked put-off, but not enraged. He looked calm, collected.

And that unnerved Hardy immediately.

Mackie just stared for a moment and shifted his feet. He let go of the handle and began to stalk, like a lion eying its prey, around the room.

Hardy fell into motion and circled the opposite direction.

Then, Mackie _laughed_.

“Hardy, Hardy, _Hardy_.” He bellowed, before he abruptly stopped. “You’re quite a handful, you know that?”

Hardy eyes followed Mackie’s hands. He didn’t miss how the man inched towards a half-drained beer bottle.

“You…didn’t expect me to fight back?” said Hardy.

Mackie shook his head and reached for the bottle.

Hardy, in a moment of non-decision, darted across the room. He stood between Mackie and the bottle.

And oh, he wondered if that was stupid when he could feel the man’s gaze leveling him.

The gaze was still that same, soft, almost reasonable one.

“Come on lad, we’ve done this song and dance before. Stop your nonsense and get back over there, apologize to Stevie while you’re at it.” He said quietly. “I could throttle you, but I bet you’d prefer to do so without me strong-arming you.”

Hardy stared up at the behemoth and swallowed, dryly. He hated the slight tremble in his body and hoped Mackie hadn’t noticed.

“Y-You keep calling him that. Stevie.” Hardy started. “I thought I told you, his real name is Joe Miller.”

Mackie nodded.

“Aye, you did.”

Hardy let his fingers travel towards the beer bottle. He knew Mackie certainly didn’t miss that, but for some reason was letting him do it.

“And…And that doesn’t matter to you? Who he is? Who he _really_ is?” Hardy pressed. “You know what he’s done, right?”

His fingers wrapped around the bottle’s neck.

“He’s…” Hardy hissed. “…a murderer. Killed an eleven-year-old boy in Broadchurch.”

Mackie nodded.

“Let my partner and I search for _months_ before he confessed. Then plead not guilty when the trial came. You know all that?”

He gripped the bottle.

“Yeah, I heard.” Said Mackie.

In a blink, Mackie wasn’t across Hardy.

He was atop him, beefy hand against the base of Hardy’s neck.

He shoved Hardy, and Hardy near _flew_ back.

The bottle fell and shattered against the floor. Hardy’s back met the side of the control board.

Hardy groaned and struggled to his feet.

Mackie stalked him once more.

“He told me you’d say all that.” Mackie said simply. “He also warned me that you’d leave out a small, _key_ detail.”

He surged forward and curled his fingers around Hardy’s shirt collar.

“Tell me, Hardy, did you forget? Did you forget _forcing_ Stevie to make that confession? Did you forget about your little affair?” He asked, voice dangerously low.

Hardy’s mind boggled. His eyes must’ve taken up the entirety of his face.

“W-What?!” He sputtered.

He gagged as Mackie clenched his collar tighter.

“Yeah, you little _snake_. Did you really forget that part? The part about _his_ wife, the one you were shagging?” Mackie gritted.

He shook his head.

“Men like you make me _sick_. Can’t be satisfied taking someone else’s partner, you have to get them out of the picture too, right? Make up for your own weaknesses? How do you sleep at night?”

“Utter… _bullshit_ …” Hardy choked as he finally gathered himself.

He threw his attention to his leg, which he lifted.

His heel collided with Mackie’s knee.

Mackie howled and immediately let him go.

Hardy scrambled onto his feet and as far away as he could muster.

The radio was inches from his hand.

He clambered for it, a feat made difficult with his hands tied behind him, and in his haste, the microphone tumbled from his hand. It let out an ear-piercing screech as it swung in the air.

Hardy slid to the floor and caught the microphone. He searched for the speaker button and shoved his thumb into it, killing the screech.

“Mayday…mayday…send help…” Hardy started between gasps.

A fist collided with his jaw and abruptly ended his distress call.

Stars swum in his vision. The microphone slipped from his grasp.

Mackie walked over casually and replaced it on its receiver.

“Cute, very cute.” He said with a headshake.

The jovial amusement had returned to his face.

Hardy groaned at the pulsating ache.

“Too bad no one will find you. Might’ve worked otherwise.” Mackie tsk’d.

“T-The call…they’ll find it and trace it – “Hardy started.

Mackie shook his head with feigned sympathy.

“Aww, sorry bud, but they won’t.” He said.

He crouched to Hardy’s level.

“You see, neither Stevie nor I wanted to take any chances. So, we disabled the AIS and GPS, the little machines that make us visible to other ships, before you were brought onboard.”

The blood drained from Hardy’s face.

“And, well, your message was pretty short. Should have plenty of time to move us far enough away that even if someone received your pitiful little cry for help, we’ll be out of sight.” Mackie said with a cold smile.

As he stood, he grabbed Hardy’s collar again and hoisted him upright.

“Might be a bit paranoid on my part, but can you blame me?” asked Mackie.

The friendly light drained, but the smile remained.

“Can’t let a monster like you get away. Not again.” He said softly.

Hardy’s pupils shrunk as Mackie dragged him towards the door.

The two exited the bridge. Joe had mostly recovered and clung to the wall with a wary eye.

“Got him under control, Stevie. I’ll let you handle getting him back below.” Mackie said.

The window was closing, Hardy knew it. His composure fell apart, and primal need to escape took over.

It was the only way to explain his next action.

He threw his head back and, face braced, he threw his head forward.

His forehead landed against something hard.

His vision blacked momentarily, but he also felt the grip on his collar vanish.

Mackie cursed and stomped his foot away from Hardy.

He was free, again.

But he had no chance to take advantage of the new window.

It was shut by a blind swing by Mackie that sent him reeling backwards.

  
Three things, all at once, near sequential.

First, the ship’s hard side speared into his back. It nearly pulled a cry from him.

Second, as he slipped onto his bottom, he heard something catch on the ropes binding his wrists and pull enough to fray the ropes severely.

However, at the same time, a third sensation: a jagged, electric-like pain splitting and slicing through his right wrist and up his arm.

Hardy swore, something between a shriek and a cry.

On the deck, he curled inwards. The pain burned and pulsated from his wrist, but he was helpless to stem the warmth that stained his shirt’s back.

He continued his stream of curses, steadily drained to half-whispers. His heartbeat in his ears.

_One, two_

_One, two_

_O-One, t-two_

_O-O-One_ –

He shuddered and choked. There was jolt, a zap deep in his chest. The world spun around him.

Of course, of _bloody course_ , he’d finally start having issues with the pacemaker now, only once he had a chance, as half-existent as it was, to escape.

He laid there, gagging, as footsteps drew closer.

“S-Shit, Mackie, grab the first-aid kit. He sliced himself badly…” He heard Joe say.

He wanted to protest, to fight more. He was close, _so close_.

He might’ve been free.

Instead, he felt hands against his neck and arms as he fell unconscious against the ship’s deck.


	8. Chapter 8

They’d descended upon them like vultures.

  
In most circumstances, a missing person’s case wasn’t enough of a story to catch the attention of major news stations and newspapers, especially not one from a small coastal town.

But the disappearance of a detective inspector, especially one under suspicious circumstances, was honey for the flies. Cursory research brought those flies to Ellie’s doorstep.

Journalists pounded at the door, day and night. Camera bulbs flashed in the windows, despite Ellie’s best efforts to block them with the shades drawn.

  
She couldn’t believe that she’s thankful to see Ollie.

Ollie, to his credit, had grown a level of decency during his time in London. Perhaps he’d been disillusioned by the ravenousness of professional media hounds, but at the least he didn’t milk his aunt’s relationship for a story.

For the most part.

“Please Aunt Ellie, just a few quotes. Few notes about Hardy, that’s all I ask.” He’d begged. “If I can just have that, I-I’ll make sure those slimeballs stay away for a few days, at least.”

Ellie was too exasperated to argue. She agreed and Ollie walked off with his needed quotes.

  
And indeed, the reporters vanished seemingly overnight. She wasn’t sure what magic Ollie pulled (most likely with assistance from Maggie), but it worked.

Though now, there was nothing to distract her from the _rest_ of her reality.

Her first day free of reporters started with burnt oatmeal.

She hadn’t meant it. She was a perfectly competent, capable adult.

She could make a bowl of oatmeal.

Today, though, her mind felt lost in a fog. Even without the bombardment of nosey journalists, she couldn’t focus.

Minutes felt like seconds, the clock’s hands shifted, and the sunlight passed over the kitchen floor at hyper speed.

Before she knew it, the kitchen was filling with smoke. Her oatmeal was reduced to a crusty, black tar.  
  


“Shit!” She muttered despite herself as she grabbed the molten pot handle.

She threw the ruined pot in the sink. She’d figure that out later.

She settled on toast that she somehow didn’t ruin.

She was ready, so ready, to settle in for a breakfast of not-burnt toast and tea, when there was a knock at the door.

She set down her untouched toast and groaned.

She sat back and hoped that maybe whoever was there would just leave, assume that no one was home.

Another knock, this one far more urgent.

She groaned again, far more loudly, and set her breakfast aside.

“I’m coming!” She called as she tromped to the door.

She dodged toys and scattered clothes before she opened the front door.

  
A frosty face greeted her, framed with a requisite smile that lacked the warmth that should be an unspoken detail.

“DS Eleanor Miller?” asked DI Flint.

“It’s Ellie, please.” She responded.

“DI Margot Flint. This is DS Blake Parsons. We’d like to ask you some questions regarding DI Alec Hardy’s disappearance.”

DS Parsons gave a short nod and a strained, near apologetic smile.

“Right. Course. Please come in.” Ellie said reluctantly.

Ellie led the detectives through the cluttered entryway and similarly cluttered living room.   
  
They made themselves at home on the couch while Ellie poured them tea.

“Hope you don’t mind decaf. Haven’t bought more regular tea.” She said as she sat down.

“This is fine, DS Miller.” Said DI Flint.

“We apologize for the intrusion; this can’t be an easy time for you.” DS Parsons said.

Ellie swallowed and shook her head.

“It’s not a problem.” She said.

“You must know why we’re here.” Said DI Flint with folded hands. “Given your connection to DI Alec Hardy.”

Ellie nodded.

“Have…Have you found anything? Any suspects?” She asked.

DS Parsons settled back.

“You might’ve seen that SOCO sectioned off the cliffside and DI Hardy’s home.” He started.

“I was there, yes.” Ellie said with a strained smile.

“Ah. Right.” Grimaced DS Parsons.

“Nevertheless, important evidence was collected. We’ve surveyed CCTV footage and are pursuing a few solid leads.” DI Flint continued.

“One being my ex-husband.”

DI Flint gave a short nod.

“Could you please recount the last night you saw DI Alec Hardy?” asked DS Parsons as he pulled out a notebook.

Ellie recounted, with as much detail as she could, that last night. The closing of the assault case, their dinner at the bar, up to when Hardy dropped her off.

“After that, I assume he went home.” Ellie finished with a sigh.

“Was DI Hardy the type to, say, go someplace without warning?” asked DS Parsons.

Ellie rolled her eyes.

“God, _yes_. He’s terrible about that.”

“You said you found his mobile up on the cliffs. Did he frequent that area?” asked DI Flint.

“No. Ironically, he hates the local scenery. Never would let me forget that.” Laughed Ellie.

“Any idea of why he would, suddenly, take an interest in viewing the cliffside, particularly at nighttime?” asked Flint.

Ellie paused, and the amused expression slipped from her face. She thought, but eventually shook her head.

“No.” She said softly.

“Is he on friendly terms with anyone else in the town? Anyone else we could ask for information?” asked DS Parsons.

Ellie clicked her tongue and shook her head again.

“Nope. Hardy is, well, a bit of a hard-ass.” She smirked. “Couldn’t be bothered with anyone.”

“Except you.” Noted DI Flint.

Ellie began to nod, then stopped.

“You’re…you’re not implying something…”

DI Flint sighed and sat back.

“DS Miller, your ex-husband is one of our prime suspects for Hardy’s disappearance. We must rule out all possible motives.”

Ellie looked at her in shock.

“I can’t believe – I’m not involved! I had no idea…” She started.

“We know you aren’t involved, DS Miller.” DS Parsons placated. “But, well, your ex-husband is a suspect.”

“I’m aware.” Said Ellie, coldly.

“We just need to know your history with DI Alec Hardy.” DI Flint said.

Ellie crossed her arms and sank into the couch. She bounced her heel against the couch.

“He was hired as detective inspector during the Latimer case.” She said. “We partnered up for that and the re-opened Sandbrook investigation. He’s my boss. Not much more to say.”

DI Flint’s look leveled Ellie. The detective’s gaze flitted down to a manila folder she brought.

“I’ve brought the photos you surrendered to the CID earlier.” She said as she flipped the folder open.

A few photos were selected, ones with her and Hardy. Two were of her and him in the living room, setting the table. One was of them in the kitchen.

Her eyes froze on one photo, of them sitting on the couch.

She chewed her lip and knew what was coming.

“Could you please describe the events in these photos, to the best of your recollection?” asked DI Flint calmly.

Ellie bit her lip and nodded.

“I think…that was a few weeks ago.” She said. “Just set the kids to bed.”

“Both your -?” started DS Parsons.

“Just mine.” Ellie interrupted. “We were knackered. The investigation had stalled. We’d stopped looking over evidence for the night. Turned the telly on for a little while.”

“What did you watch?” asked DI Flint.

Ellie gave her a look.

“I don’t know, _Tremors_ , I think. Was my choice. Where is this going?” She asked.

“Did you watch anything _else_ that night, DS Miller?” asked DI Flint.

“What do you want me to say? Oh yeah, we just settled in with some cheeky flick and snogged on the couch?” growled Ellie.

“We don’t mean to imply anything, DS Miller.”

“Oh, _really_?”

“DS Miller, as you might’ve guessed, we reviewed testimonies from the Latimer trial for further information. The defense brought up the possibility of an affair between you and DI Hardy – “DI Flint said.

“Oh, bloody _hell_.” Grumbled Ellie as she massaged her temples. “Nothing, I repeat, _nothing_ happened. There was no affair, there was _never_ an affair. I went to his hotel room because my husband was revealed to be a paedophilic murderer and everyone in town thought _I_ knew what was going on.”

“For comfort?”

“For _support_ , don’t you dare phrase it like that.” Hissed Ellie. “We talked, nothing more. I can’t believe that gall of you two.”

“We really didn’t mean to imply anything untoward between the two of you – “DS Parsons started.

“Right, think I’ve had enough. Out you both go.” Ellie said as she stood.

“DS Miller, we haven’t concluded our interview.” Protested DI Flint.

“And I don’t care, goodbye.” Ellie said as she ushered them along.

Front door open, the two detectives were led out. DI Flint shot Ellie an icy look.

“We’ll come back for further questioning.” She nearly warned.

“Fine enough.” Ellie responded.

“Thank you for the tea and your time.” DS Parsons stammered out before the door was slammed shut.

  
Ellie sighed loudly and raggedly as she buried her face in her hands. She let out a muffled scream that shook her shoulders.

When she looked up, her face was drained, and her hair flopped into her face.

When she walked, she compared best to a zombie.

She stalked along, ghost-like, until she returned to the living room. The three cups sat at the end tables; her own breakfast still untouched.

Her eyes trailed the room, from the couch to the television set.

They settled on the screen.

She’d near forgotten that night from the photo.

_Hardy threw the folder onto the coffee table and sighed. He slumped back into the couch and covered his eyes with his hands._

_“Is there_ anything _we haven’t considered yet?” He mumbled. “We have our guy.”_

_“Right.” She’d said. “Just need to corner him.”_

_“His alibi. It’s horse shit, we know that. Just need to blast holes in it.”_

_“I know, but so far he has his supporters.” Frowned Ellie. “We have witnesses testifying his presence at the bar, same time as the assault.”_

_Hardy chewed his lip._

_Ellie snapped her fingers._

_“Unless he knew the real assailant? Could’ve been a set-up, a hit.”_

_Hardy’s eyes widened and he nodded._

_“How could we prove that though?”_

_“Get his mobile.” She continued. “Run a check on his messaging and call history.”_

_“Course we have to get his mobile to do that.” Muttered Hardy._

_Ellie threw her own evidence onto the table._

_“Right, which means not much to do until tomorrow.” She said as she reached for the remote. “I say it’s movie time.”_

_“Ach, Miller…” Hardy groaned. “we really should keep looking. Might be something we missed.”_

_“With all due respect,_ sir _, we’ve been working on this case all day. It’s near midnight and we_ just _ate dinner. I’m exhausted, and I bet you are too.”_

_“Miller…”_

_“Just one. That’s all. We can get back to reviewing evidence afterwards.”_

_Hardy sat and grumbled, near petulant like a child with his arms crossed. He sighed._

_“Fine.” He relented._

_Ellie grinned and flicked the telly on._

_“Ooo, look Hardy! The first Tremors is on!”_

_Hardy rolled his eyes._

_“Not that.”_

_“Oh, come on, it’s a fun movie. You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”_

_“Can’t stand that shite. All so stupid.”_

_“You don’t know until you’ve tried it.”_

_“That’s what kids say about drugs and look how they turn out.” Hardy noted with a smirk._

_“Oi! Not the same and you know it!” said Ellie with a playful punch to the arm. “Besides, knowing you, you’ll conk out before the movie’s half over.”_

_“Won’t! I won’t.” Hardy retorted with a glare._

_“Challenge is on then.” Ellie smiled as she switched to the movie._

_An hour later, just a bit past the movie’s halfway point, Hardy was crashed out on the couch. His head slacked back as he lowly snored, a pillow tucked against his chest._

_Ellie snickered, feeling the most satisfied she’d ever felt after losing a bet._

_  
_Ellie blinked, and the memory faded.

Across the room, the stuffed tiger stared at her.

She swallowed and returned to the couch.

Finally, she tucked into her breakfast.

  
\--

The rest of the day was a blur. Ellie was certain she’d been productive, what with the small pile of folded clothes, but couldn’t recall too much.

Probably best that Fred wasn’t present for most of the day. Lord knows what trouble he might’ve gotten into.

For the time being, he was happily entertained with his coloring book in the kitchen. Ellie worked at prepping dinner; fingers crossed that she wouldn’t burn this meal at the least.

“Which blue?” asked Freddie as he held up two crayons, one periwinkle the other robin’s egg.

Ellie stopped stirring and scrutinized both crayons.

“Hmm, I like the robin’s egg.” She said before she returned to her cooking.

Freddie nodded and scribbled furiously. He knocked over the crayon box and dug through the choices.

“Mumma, you like orange?” He asked.

“Yeah, I do.” Confirmed Ellie.

  
Things were quiet again for a short while.

“Can the sky be purple?”

Ellie sighed and thought a moment.

“I suppose at sunset. Don’t you have blue crayons?”

“My blue crayon broke.” Frowned Freddie.

“What about the robin’s egg one?”

“Then his jumper would look like the sky!”

“Alright, purple works then.” Said Ellie with an affectionate headshake.

As she stirred, she looked back.

“What are you drawing, love?”

Freddie clasped his drawing and hopped out of his seat. He held it up proudly to his mum.

  
Ellie set her spoon down and stopped, mid-turn.

The drawing, as expected, was rudimentary. But the figures were unmistakable.

A figure, presumably her from the orange jacket and messy brown hair, stood next to a figure in a blue jumper with ratty brown hair. A yellow-haired, slightly smaller figure played football with the smallest figure in a green t-shirt.

A smiling yellow sun was in the corner, surrounded by fighter jets. A dinosaur lumbered in the background. The sky was purple.

But the little family caught Ellie’s attention the most.

“For Duncle Alec.” Said Freddie. “When he comes back.”

Ellie’s eyes scanned the paper, again and again, her mouth crooked. She probably stared at it all too long before she finally addressed her child.

Freddie, thankfully, seemed to miss the awkward pause.

She forced a warm smile.

“It’s lovely, Freddie. Why don’t you hang it on the fridge?” She said with a nod.

Freddie skipped off and clapped a colorful magnet to the drawing.

As Freddie left, Ellie stared for a while longer at the drawing.

“ _We’re so happy in that picture._ ” She thought to herself as she absently stirred.

In some ways, the figures that were her and Hardy looked nothing like them, mostly because of how smiley they were.

She couldn’t remember when she last smiled that wide.

And suddenly, she was jealous of the little stick-figure family.

“ _Give me the dinosaurs and fighter jets any day._ ” Thought Ellie grimly. “ _Least we’re happy, together, and things are normal._ ”

_And there wouldn’t be detectives digging up old shite like that stupid affair, fucking defense team._

_  
_The earlier day’s events played out again in her mind, and that jealousy turned to envy, to irritation.

She stirred the pasta faster.

“ _Stupid smiling stick-figures, they don’t know. They didn’t get their lives torn apart._ Their _husband didn’t murder your son’s best friend._ They _can live their lives without people scrutinizing every detail, every mistake, every glance._ They _can be happy._ They _can be normal people._ ” She internally grumbled.

She stabbed the pot.

The image of the smiling stick-figures warped into taunting grins.

“ _And_ they _can live their lives without being_ accused _of covering up murders and kidnappings, oh yeah that stupid shite smiley family, fuck them and all their smiling bullshit and their perfect lives and –_ “

  
Pasta water spilled onto the burner.

Ellie stopped and blinked.

She stared, numbly, at the pot.

“ _Christ, what am I doing?_ ” She thought ashamedly. “ _I’m stewing over a bloody picture._ ”

She sucked in a sharp breath and exhaled. A loose strand of hair fell into her face.

She sniffed, pushed aside the hair, and refocused on the dinner.

She pointedly ignored the drawing.

  
The front door slammed shut.

She turned and watched as Tom skulked in, his face turned notably downwards, and his hands stuffed into his pockets.

“Welcome home, love.” She said.

Tom threw his backpack to the floor.

“How was school?”

Tom didn’t answer. He started towards his room.

“Tom?” asked Ellie. “Tom, love, _please_ what’s wrong?”

Tom finally stopped and turned a furious gaze to her.

The fury was tainted, however. His eyes glistened and his lip wobbled.

“They hate me. They _all_ hate me. _Again_.” He started.

“W-Who? What are you talking about?”

“Everyone! The school, they…they’ve been talking. About _DI Hardy_.” He nearly spat Alec’s name like a curse. “Said Dad did it. Is it true, mum?”

Ellie paled.

“I-I don’t know, love. I’m not on the investigation – “

“But you must have a guess! Who else, if not Dad? Who else would do this, and why else wouldn’t _you_ be looking for him?” Tom countered.

  
Ellie bit her lip.

“It’s just to ensure the investigation is impartial.” She said methodically. “If it turns out that it is… _Joe_ , then a conviction needs to be secured because he’s grown far more dangerous – “

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Ellie went silent again.

“I-I…I _couldn’t_. Tom, we don’t know if it is Joe, and if it isn’t, I don’t want to panic you – “

“ _Fuck_ that!”

“Tom!” scolded Ellie.

“If he’s back in town, in the area, we should know!” Tom argued. “That man, that _monster_ is the whole reason our lives are hell! How could you hide it from us, Mum? How? _How could you_?”

Ellie bit her lip, hard, as something built within her.

“How, Mum? _How?_ ”

“Because you shouldn’t have to shoulder that!” Ellie snapped. “Christ, Tom, you’re sixteen! Can you bloody well blame me for trying to let you be that?!”

Tom settled, shaken by his mother’s outburst.

“Everyone, _everything_ , has forced you to grow up too fast, Tom. I can’t change what happened, but I feel that the least I could do is keep your life as normal as I can. I know I can’t do it perfectly but I’m _trying_.” Ellie said, her voice thick. “I just want to protect you both.”

_Hardy tried that too, look what happened to him._

Ellie flinched and shut out the thought.

Tom’s rage subsided. Replacing it was a look of someone lost, someone tired, someone _older_ than Tom should resemble.

“I…I know, Mum.” He finally said softly. “I know you do.”

Ellie sniffed and wiped a stray tear away.

“But – “

“But I shouldn’t.” Ellie finished for him. “I know, you deserved to know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Tom averted his gaze and tucked his arms around himself.

Ellie sighed raggedly.

“God, what a mess.” She mumbled.

“What else is new?” asked Tom with a cheeky smirk.

Ellie laughed and leaned back against the counter.

“I’m sorry I yelled.” Tom said.

Ellie shook her head.

“It’s alright, love. I know. It’s been a tough few days.”

“Least there’s no more journalists.”

“God, _yes_ , hallelujah.” Ellie sighed.

Tom chuckled.

“Come here.” Ellie said as she opened her arms.

Tom hesitated, the dregs of teenage distance in his stance, before he accepted.

Ellie held her eldest close and rocked ever gently.

“I love you so much.” She said.

“More than chocolates?” asked Tom.

“Even more than chocolates.” Affirmed Ellie.

She spotted a pair of eyes around the corner.

“Are you alright, Freddie?” She asked.

“Is the yelling done?” He asked softly.

A pang of guilt ran through Ellie’s gaze.

“Yes sweetheart, we’re done. Did we scare you?” She asked.

“A little.” Admitted Freddie as he shuffled into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, love.”

“Sorry Fred.” Mumbled Tom.

Freddie toddled over and joined the hug.

  
Ellie sighed and kissed the tops of both boys’ heads.

“Ah, how did I end up with such great boys?” She asked.

“Mum, pot’s boiling over.” Noted Tom.

“Sh – “Ellie started before she caught herself.

She cranked the stove low and the foam subsided.

She glanced at the melted noodle swamp and shot a smile at the boys.

“Who’s up for takeaway again?” She offered cheerily.

“I’ll look for coupons.” Said Tom as he stepped away.

Fred still clung to her legs, so Ellie mustered the strength to hoist him into her arms.

“Come on, Tom will handle the ordering. Let’s watch a movie.” She said.

“Iron Man?” asked Fred.

“Ooo, yes, that sounds good.” Ellie smiled.

They passed by the fridge and she lingered, for a short while, by the drawing of the smiling family.

She then looked at Fred.

“It really is a good drawing, Freddie.” She said.

“I think so too.” He responded.

She hugged him and carried him into the living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh not sure if i like how this chapter turned out but not sure if it'll improve either BUT hope you all enjoyed it and slight happier stuff!!!


	9. Chapter 9

He had no idea how much time passed once he finally woke.

  
He awoke back in the shower stall, legs bound again, same as before.

The ropes bit even worse at his already burned ankles.

He felt drained and sore, his limbs weak and limp.

His tired eyes fell to his wrists which, surprisingly, weren’t wrenched behind him.

They were, instead, tied in front of him, the ropes crisscrossing around his forearms but not touching his wrists.

He quickly saw why.

His right wrist, and part of his forearm, was obscured by thick medical dressing. Said bandaging was stained a slight red color.

He forced himself to lift his arms and peek below the dressing. He swallowed thickly once he saw the long vertical gash down his wrist, held together by deft surgical stitch work.

No doubt, Joe had stitched him back together after his fall. Wouldn’t want his prisoner to bleed out before he got what he was looking for.

He gave his new bindings an experimental tug, a feat that was far more difficult than he’d hoped.

  
These bindings were as tight as the last ones.

“ _Shit_.” He muttered under his breath as his shoulder bumped against the glass.

The chain’s rattle was the only response.

His eyes fell shut again, his focus on his breathing.

Exhaustion had been his default for the last few days, but it really hit him in this moment.

There wasn’t a drop of energy left within him, and partly he was glad to be left alone.

He just couldn’t, not right now.

Maybe not again.

  
“Good to see you awake again, sir.”

  
He groaned and turned away. He knew who it was, and he wasn’t sure he could deal with her.

He heard Not-Ellie sit against the wall again and, somehow, he could smell the scotch egg again.

He could hear her hiss.

“Oh lord, that…geez, that must _hurt_ , are you okay?”

No doubt she referred to the bandaged wound, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer.

He simply curled into himself and away from Not-Ellie as much as he could.

She paused.

“Not up to talking right now? Fine enough. I can come back later, and we can work out a Plan B.”

His eyes shot open at the suggestion.

“Might be best, see what you think up on your own. I’ll come back and collaborate at that point – “

“Miller, _no_.”

He could feel, somehow, her stiffen past the glass.

“…No?” She asked quietly. “What do you mean, _no_?”

“I mean I’m not trying again.” He said with a rough sigh. “We’re done, Miller.”

He still didn’t dare to turn around. Call him a coward, but he wasn’t ready to deal with the Not-Ellie’s no doubt burning glare.

“…You promised, Hardy.” Said the Not-Ellie, softly.

Hardy grimaced and sunk tighter.

“You promised you wouldn’t give up.”

“N-Never said I’d keep trying to _escape_.” He said raggedly.

“Y-You…You bastard!” Not-Ellie spat. “Then what are you doing? Huh? What did you promise? What am I looking at here?!”

“I’m accepting reality, Miller!” Hardy growled as he finally turned to look at her.

Not-Ellie was close to the glass, her own, fiery gaze burrowed into his.

“Mackie turned off the AIS and GPS. There’s no way in _hell_ a ship will find me, if there’s one even in the next nautical mile. I could try to radio long enough to trace us, but that’s assuming I’m not done in first, or Mackie and Joe don’t move the boat.” He said steadily.

He swallowed dryly and kept the stare.

“And this is _twice_ I’ve tried to escape. _Twice_. They’ll be expecting a third and will be much more careful going forward. The window to escape was small enough. Now? It’s _miniscule_.” Hardy said through gritted teeth. “Face it Miller, we’re done.”

The room went quiet, Hardy’s labored pants the only sound.

Not-Ellie stared with a mixture of fury and grief. Her lips were drawn into a thin line.

“I can’t believe you.” She said in a hushed voice.

  
The sound of her disapproval stung Hardy more than he expected.

“I don’t understand.” She continued. “I just…how? How can you just…prepare to _die_? And just accept that?”

“What else am I supposed to do, Miller?” Hardy responded hollowly.

He looked at her wearily.

“I’m not getting rescued. It’d take a bloody miracle for someone to find me, and I’m not pinning my plans to sheer luck.” He answered.

There was a waver in his lip, in his gaze, as he continued.

“You must know me well enough by now, Miller.” He said sadly. “I’m not going down scared. I’m preparing so I can die with a shred of dignity, whatever I can be afforded on this damned boat.”

“Not much faith in the investigation then.” Not-Ellie muttered.

Hardy only answered with a resigned look.

Not-Ellie sighed and ran a stressed hand through her hair.

“You can’t…there’s things to try and survive for, Hardy. Even if rescue seems impossible, there has to be something to keep you alive.”

“If you’re saying that Joe and Mackie will rot in prison if I keep living, that’s still assuming I’ll be rescued.”

“What? No, bloody hell, that’s not what I mean – “Not-Ellie started to argue.

She paused.

“– do you really think that’s the only reason for you to survive? Just because Joe and Mackie will be sentenced?”

  
When Hardy didn’t answer, Not-Ellie spat a laugh in further disbelief.

“You…You know there’s other things, right? Not just putting creeps in jail, there’s _more_ in life to live for, there’s _people_ who aren’t criminals to keep going for. I just…”

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“…you must be messing with me. This is a sick joke; you _can’t_ be serious.”

“It’s what’s kept me alive all those years.” Noted Hardy absently.

The air in the room grew cold and thick.

Not-Ellie’s gaze was fixed in a concoction of horror, rage and grief. She shook her head.

“S’not funny, sir. You can’t honestly believe all that shite.”

Hardy’s gaze fixed on the far wall, but he was staring through it.

“Seems to be my life, always running. Always fixing my shite, or someone else’s. For Danny, Broadchurch, it was penance for failing Pippa and Lisa. For the reopened Sandbrook, it was to give their families peace. For everything, I stayed alive for _them_ , to ensure that maybe there was some sort of justice in life, lord knows there’s never enough.” He noted in a near mumble.

“There must’ve been more than that.”

“Miller, what else would there have been?” asked Hardy weakly. “I had _nothing_ left. Daisy hated me, barely wanted anything to do with me. Can’t say I blamed her. There was nothing left with Tess. My life was just those cases, Miller.”

“But it’s not like that now, right?” said Not-Ellie.

Hardy didn’t answer. He curled up again on the floor.

“ _Right?_ ” She repeated.

  
Silence was the answer.

Not-Ellie sank down, into the floor, and chewed on the implications of the non-answer.

“…You really think you matter so little, sir? Even now?” She asked softly.

Hardy still didn’t answer.

Not-Ellie shook her head slowly.

“What, do you think everyone would just move on? If you were dead, we’d pick ourselves up and go on without another thought?” She asked.

No answer.

“…that’s why _I’m_ here, isn’t it? Instead of another you.”

Hardy finally looked over.

“Talking to you helps.” He said.

“Just that?” Not-Ellie prodded.

Hardy’s gaze drifted to the floor again.

Not-Ellie bit her lip.

“You remember I’m not _her_ , right? Whatever you say, she won’t know.” She said.

“Then you know my answer already.”

“I want to hear _you_ acknowledge it.”

Hardy’s eyes drifted shut and he sighed a half-sigh, half-groan.

“Is it that bad, Hardy?” asked Not-Ellie quietly.

Hardy took a sharp inhale.

“If it were another me, I wouldn’t have this argument.” He started.

“What would you be talking about?”

Hardy’s eyes glazed.

“Memories. Moments with Tess, with Daiz. Regrets.” He said softly. “Things I just, ach, can’t let go. The river. First Sandbrook investigation. Moment Tess handed the divorce paperwork to me.”

He swallowed.

“Every reason why she had that affair, every reason why I’m failing Daisy. Every reason why I’m _here_ and somehow there’s a reason because there’s always a damned reason and it’s always my -.”

His mouth lingered open before it finally, firmly, shut the last words out.

“You’d be torturing yourself.” Not-Ellie concluded.

Hardy scrunched his face.

“Bit extreme.” He noted.

“Not.” Not-Ellie shook her head. “None of that is true and you know it.”

Hardy’s expression slacked and he remained quiet.

“You deserve to be happy again, sir.” She said. “You deserve to live for something _you_ want again. Not just for what you do for other people.”

Hardy shivered at the words.

“As much as I know you love to be a bloody martyr,” Not-Ellie rolled her eyes jovially. “you aren’t the horrid burden you think you are. Trust me, Daisy, Tom, Fred, Ellie, they’d all rather have you there with them.”

The jovialness slipped from her face.

“And besides, I know there’s something you can live for, if you really need something to _do_ to keep you alive.” She said thoughtfully. “There’s something you haven’t told Ellie.”

“She doesn’t – “started Hardy before he bit his tongue.

“You _do_. At least you need to tell her how much you appreciate her.” Not-Ellie insisted. “She’ll want to hear it, sir.”

“Miller, stop.”

“I won’t, sir. You know I’m saying what you’re thinking, and not just because I’m a figment of your mind.” Not-Ellie smirked sadly. “You want to tell her so much it hurts, but you don’t think you _deserve_ her if she loves you back.”

Hardy’s throat thickened.

“But you do, sir. And maybe you want to hear that, deep inside.”

Hardy’s gaze was strained, bordering on breaking. He fumbled with his bandaging to distract himself.

“When did you first start loving her, sir?” Not-Ellie asked softly.

Hardy’s look was thoughtful, his gaze directed to the shower floor.

“That day I came back to my house, after I talked to Jocelyn to finalize my will. You were there, all night, working on the Sandbrook files.” He answered.

He shook his head slowly.

“You pointed out that one receipt, you ate all my bread and tea. You… _filled_ the home. Never had that since Tess and I…since all that.”

An awkward smirk crossed his face.

“Brain thought it’d be handy to suggest how nice it’d be to wake up and you’re there. Didn’t want to think it, but part of me just…ach, forget this.” He sighed.

“No, please.” Not-Ellie urged.

Hardy seemed resistant, but he fought on.

“I felt like…even if I’m an irksome mess, that I still wanted you. I wanted to _be_ with you, because things were…god’s sake they were _normal_ with you. First time in nearly three years back then and I didn’t want that to stop.”

He bit his lip hard as the tears welled.

“It’s okay, sir.” Assured Not-Ellie.

“ _Shit_.” Hissed Hardy as he buried his face in his arms. “I knew you didn’t need that. Still don’t know if you need that. Hell, Joe was still on trial back then. I can read the room if I can’t do anything else. But I still thought about it, even when I went back to Tess. Always doomed, I suppose. Did it more for Daisy than anything else and now… _damned boat_.”

Hardy stifled the building tears as Not-Ellie watched.

Not-Ellie leaned against the glass.

“Sir, I need you to promise me something.” She said. “I need you to keep thinking of her. Might seem stupid or daft, but they need you _alive_. I’m not going to let you die, not before you get home.”

She leaned forward to meet Hardy’s gaze.

“Will you do that for me?” She asked.

Hardy returned her gaze with a soft look.

“Anything for you, Miller.” He answered quietly.

  
Not-Ellie blinked in surprise. She may have turned a little pink.

The life returned to Hardy’s gaze.

“…That was awful, wasn’t it.”

“Yeah, very soppy, even for you.” Mumbled Not-Ellie.

Hardy stalled, blinked, then allowed himself a smirk and a chuckle.

Not-Ellie joined in.

“I thought it’d be sweet. You hear them say that shite in films.” He admitted.

“It was corny as hell.”

“I _know_. But, ah, maybe wanted to at least _say it_ once.”

“Oh god, Hardy the romantic. You’ll drive her up the wall, I swear. I’ve created a monster.” Not-Ellie groaned.

Hardy grinned toothily.

“Your fault.” He sing-songed.

“I know, don’t rub it in.” muttered Not-Ellie.

Hardy sank against the glass of the shower and blinked slowly at the vision. He caught himself gazing at how her curls bounced with each chuckle and mutter.

It felt almost real.

“Miss you.” He said tiredly. “So much.”

Not-Ellie lifted her head and gave a sad smile.

“I know she misses you too.” She answered.

Hardy sighed and curled close.

“What do you want to do when you get back?” asked Not-Ellie.

Hardy stared sleepily before he answered.

“Make dinner with you, Daisy, and the boys. Play football with Tom, give Daisy the biggest hug. Read Little Bear for Fred.” He listed. “…watch a movie with you on the couch.”

“Tremors 2?” teased Not-Ellie.

“Anything but that.” Grumbled Hardy.

Not-Ellie watched him with a warm gaze as Hardy settled into his tight curl, the closest he could get to a comfortable sleeping position.

“Maybe, stead of me conking out, we’d fall asleep together.” He noted thoughtfully. “Might be nice.”

“Keep thinking about that, sir. Please.” She said. “Keep thinking of home.”

“I’ll try. For you, Ellie, I’ll try.” Hardy said half-consciously as he finally drifted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey 2nd chapter where i feel it needs improvement high fives all around
> 
> on less funny note, wanted to let you all know that updates might be a bit slower going forward. just hired for new job so i'm not sure how much time i'll have for revising and writing. i'll work hardest to make sure updates are still every 5 days but there might be variances so super sorry i really want to make sure new updates are posted and this story will get finished!!!
> 
> thank you all again and i'm so happy you're enjoying this so far!!!!!!!


	10. Chapter 10

After the bridge was cleaned up and set straight, Joe joined Mackie out on the bow.

  
Mackie sat on a folding chair, a rod in his hands. At the sound of the boards creaking, he turned and shot Joe a smile.

“Hey! All cleaned up then?” He said as he offered a second rod.

“Yeah, finally.” Joe said as he took it. “Decent mess in there.”

“Well, he gave a decent fight.” Said Mackie. “Squirmy little bugger.”

“Wouldn’t say little.” Noted Joe as he cast out.

The bobber hit the ocean with the tiniest _splash_ , audible amidst the unusually placid water.

“You know what I mean.”

“Right.”

Mackie set his rod aside in the holder and dug through an ice chest. He pulled out a cold beer, popped its cap, and handed it to Joe.

Joe took it with a nodded thanks.

“Ah, this is nice.” Sighed Mackie as he sat back. “Nice, sunny day. Good fishing conditions. Calm ocean. Beer. And a mate to share it with. Nothing better.”

Joe nodded with a weak smile.

“Nothing better.”

Mackie turned to look at him.

“You’re thinking.”

“Hmm, no, I’m fishing.” Joe shook his head.

“Aye, you’re fishing _and_ thinking. And the thinking isn’t about the fish.” Mackie said with a gentle look. “No man I know worries about the fishing.”

“Unless they need that fish for dinner.”

“Come on lad, work with me.”

“Am.”

“ _Not_.” Mackie levelled. “What’s on your mind?”

Joe bit his lip and sighed. He fell back into his chair and set his rod aside too.

“Mackie, do you think we’ve made a mistake?”

Mackie paused and blinked.

“About?”

“You know. All this.” Said Joe as he gestured to the boat. “With Hardy.”

“Do you?”

Joe’s gaze fell to the deck. Lines formed around his mouth as he nodded stiffly.

“Don’t think I can do this, Mackie. It’s wrong, so _wrong_.” He said thickly.

Mackie sat back and listened.

Joe’s hands shook as he fell forward and caught his head. He shook his head against his palms.

“He was right, Hardy was right, I’m _not_ this kind of man. I-I wouldn’t do this, yet here I am – “He rambled nervously, quietly.

He looked up at his friend.

“What am I doing here, Mackie? What are _we_ doing here? We have to stop.” He said.

“Bit too late for that, lad.” Mackie said grimly.

“Oh _God_ ,” said Joe in hushed tones. “I’m not this, I’m not this, _I’m not this_ …”

“Neither of us are.” Said Mackie solemnly.

Joe looked up from his fevered trance. His gaze was of a desperate man, eyes wide with fear and color that threatened to flee his face.

“Why did I want this, Mackie?” He asked. “I-I had moved on. I told M…I had moved on. I was past this.”

Mackie looked at his friendly, eyes glimmering with sadness. He nodded.

“Because you never really get past it.” He answered softly.

He inhaled sharply and fought the swell that built in his throat and behind his eyes.

“Because no matter how much time passes, the ache is always there. The ‘what ifs’, the ‘I wishes’, the ‘it could’ves’. It doesn’t fade, it just festers and rots.”

Joe’s gaze fixed to the sweating bottle in his hand.

Mackie took a generous swig from his.

“Look Stevie – “

“Joe.”

Mackie paused and glanced at his friend.

“It’s Joe. I’m sorry.” Joe said with eyes averted.

Mackie only nodded.

“ _Joe_ ,” He corrected. “I need to level with you. You know it, I know it, everyone’s taught at some point that life isn’t fair. No one’s guaranteed a good life, not everyone gets their ‘happily ever after’. We all know this, right?”

Joe nodded.

“Yeah, I knew it too.” Mackie said as he drank more beer. “But, still, when life bites you in the ass? Hurts like a _bitch_. Hurts like a son of a bitch, even if you know that nothing was guaranteed to you.”

Mackie set down his bottle.

“Hurts even worse if you were doing your best up to then. Maybe you had flaws, maybe you had your demons you were working on, who doesn’t? You still don’t think you deserve to get fucked over, and yet it happens.”

He pawed as his pocket and pulled a small object out.

“And the worst of it? Worst pain of all is when someone you trust, someone you love, someone you care for is the one that bites you.”

He uncapped his hand.

Pinched between his thumb and index fingers was a gold band with a small diamond affixed to it.

He stared at the piece of jewelry thoughtfully, a flare of something old, mournful, and painful flickering.

“I know.” He said in a near whisper.

The ring vanished into his palm once more.

Joe nodded.

Mackie stuffed the ring back into his pocket and stared at the deck, distantly, for a moment.

When he left his trance, however, he cringed and gritted his teeth.

“And _then_ , you have the assholes.” He growled. “The ones who don’t have the faintest idea of what you’re going through, the pain and betrayal, who tell you that the right thing to do is to leave, to say nothing and not fight. That somehow what they did will be punishment enough and you’ll come out the bigger man, rewarded by some cosmic karma, hippie _bullshit_.”

His gaze snapped to Joe.

“Well I’m testament that it’s been twenty years, and my ex-wife is still happily married to that bastard academic. I said nothing, didn’t argue. I could’ve told the papers, hell they’d eat it up, but I _didn’t_. I _did_ the right thing. But they’re the ones having the perfect, happy life.”

He jabbed a finger at his own chest.

“Meanwhile _I_ can never go home, to _my_ hometown. They made me out a monster and I can _never_ fix that. _Twenty years_ , and I’m alone still.” He hissed. “ _They_ , my dear Maureen and that demon, are happily shagging in _my_ old house, without a hint of remorse, and what am _I_ left with for being the bigger man? _Nothing_.”

Mackie was panting, his chest heaving and falling raggedly.

Joe, for his part, looked like a scared animal, spooked yet fixated by the eternal rage on display.

But the rage was cooling. Mackie sucked in deep breaths and blinked away the snarled expression. He cleared his throat and sat back with no tension in his frame.

“’m sorry, lad. I-I didn’t mean to scare you.” He said meekly.

“It’s okay, Mackie. It’s understandable.” Joe placated.

Mackie met Joe’s eyes with a morose gaze.

“That’s what I’m trying to save you from, Joe.” He said softly. “You told me your tale and I felt like I was reliving mine. Different in details, but the gist is too similar.”

Joe swallowed thickly.

“I couldn’t stand by. You’re going down the same path I did, and I couldn’t let someone else feel the same pain I have. Can’t let you become a bitter sod like me. Not when there was still time to make things right.”

Mackie looked at him wearily.

“ _That’s_ why we’re here, I think.”

Joe’s gaze fell back to the deck, his skin far paler than it had been minutes ago. His hands wrung together as he digested Mackie’s words.

“All I’m saying lad,” said Mackie. “is don’t hold back right now. Don’t make the mistake I did; if you can at least get some restitution in this life, go for it.”

Joe’s pole twitched.

  
“T-Think I got a bite.” Said Joe as he fumbled for the pole.

Mackie watched as Joe fought and worked the reel.

After a minute, the tension went slack.

“Damn, got away.” Joe muttered as he set the rod back.

He had yet to look back at Mackie as he drained the rest of his beer in two short gulps. He stood and took Mackie’s drained bottle.

“I’ll toss these, maybe get the whiskey. Think I need something stronger after all that.” He noted.

Mackie nodded.

“Think about it, lad.” He said.

Joe stopped, gave a short sound of affirmation, then vanished back below.

He stepped down the stairs as his brain swam with thoughts.

Despite Mackie’s passionate plea, this whole situation still sat uncomfortably with him.

He’d gone along when Mackie suggested getting even with Hardy. Maybe at the time, it even sounded amazing, thrilling.

But the fire faded when he got here. Looking at Hardy, he was angry, but he wasn’t sure if to the degree that he could willingly inflict harm on him.

He’d moved on, that’s what he’d said to Mark. Yet here he was.

Maybe he did want restitution.

Maybe he never _did_ move on.

“ _Maybe I’m a coward after all._ ” Joe thought morosely as he tossed his bottle.

He searched through the cupboards and pulled out the bottle of whiskey.

As he turned to return to the deck, he stopped as he heard noises from the bathroom.

Frowning, he leaned and pressed his ear against the door. He was careful as he leaned so he wouldn’t cast a shadow through the door’s gap.

He could hear Hardy speak. He heard his voice raise occasionally, before dipping low again.

“ _Who in the world is he talking to?_ ” thought Joe. “ _Christ, has he lost it already?_ ”

Then he heard him, clearly despite his quieter voice.

“ _Anything for you, Miller_.”

Joe’s eyes shot wide. Had he heard that right?

There was chuckling on the other side.

He continued to listen.

“ _Miss you so much_.”

“ _Make dinner with you, Daisy, and the boys. Play football with Tom. Read Little Bear for Fred. Watch a movie with you on the couch._ ”

“ _Maybe, stead of me conking out, we’d fall asleep together. Might be nice._ ”

He had.

Hardy, at least thought, he was talking to _Ellie_.

“ _I’ll try_. _For you, Ellie, I’ll try._ ”

The conversation died out as Joe walked away, unable to listen to more.

During his trial, to maintain his sanity amidst the scrutiny of everyone that knew and (once) loved him, Joe kept a few facts straight in his mind:

He didn’t kill Danny.

His love for Danny wasn’t the twisted monstrosity people made it out to be.

He was innocent.

There was, however, one angle that he couldn’t completely sit with, one that his defence team had brought with fiery fervor in the courtroom.

The suggestion of an affair between Ellie and Hardy seemed to Joe, at the time, ludicrous.

And even in the previous days, yes, he believed that Hardy had taken away Ellie and his boys, but only through the conviction and trial. It was the only angle he believed Hardy had ruined his life, that Ellie was unaware and innocent throughout the investigation, and was just as shocked by Hardy’s accusation as Joe said he was.

  
But Hardy’s words, the words he was saying to whatever he thought was Ellie…

The tone, the way the words were said.

Joe felt nothing platonic about them.

And that changed everything.

He looked down at the whiskey bottle.

He screwed his eyes shut and felt the tears welling in his eyes.

His free hand gripped into a fist.

When he opened his eyes, the flicker of sadness was gone.

He strode out onto the deck and returned to his fishing.

  
\--

_He was back at the river._

_He could see her, her small body ravaged by nature and the murky river water._

_He threw himself into the river and swam desperately towards Pippa._

_How could someone do that to such a young girl?_

_His hands clawed desperately through the raging waters. They searched and pawed for a grip on the girl’s body._

_He reached her, and he caught a glimpse of her face, before the river sucked him under._

_Dark water flooded his mouth and forced itself down his throat, into his lungs._

_He gasped and flailed, the light at the surface growing dim.  
He pulled Pippa’s body close to him despite how he sunk.   
He blinked and the murkiness faded._

_There were more bodies._

_He squinted and recognized them all: Lisa Newberry, Danny Latimer, Ellie Miller, Trish Winterman, Daisy, Tess._

_None of them were moving._

_They were all sinking fast._

_He tried to force himself to swim for all of them, but his mind was spinning._

_Damnit Hardy, swim_ faster.

_His lungs burned and ached in protest at the water and his limbs were growing numb._

_Hardy, they_ need you.

_He could barely keep himself afloat._

_Shamefully, he made for the surface._

_You_ coward, _you_ useless _excuse of a detective_.

_He surfaced and coughed out mouthfuls of water. Pippa’s body clasped close, he searched desperately for the shore._

_  
But it wasn’t there._

_  
Instead, for endless miles in all directions, there was nothing but black water. Seagulls cackled and cried above him and the air stunk of briny salt._

_His heart pounded in his ears as he struggled to stay afloat._

_He gasped and panted._

_The water slapped at his face and head._

_It pulled and threatened to yank him under again._

_In the distance, a shape appeared._

_A boat._

_It drew close._

_Someone onboard threw a rope._

_Hardy caught it and, despite his weary body, started to pull himself up with desperate thanks._

_  
He was stopped by a hand._

_His gaze, exhausted and spent, drifted upwards._

_  
Oh god,_ no.

  
_Joe and Mackie loomed above him. Mackie stood at Joe’s side, his wicked shoulder demon._

_It was Joe’s hand pressed against his forehead._

_Joe pulled his hand away and replaced it with his foot._

_“Ellie is_ mine _, Hardy.” He hissed._

_His foot landed with a_ crack.

  
_And Hardy’s vision went red._

_He fell back, helpless, into the hungry jaws of the churning sea._

_Pippa was but a memory, lost from his grip._

_Red turned to black as he sunk, dozens of hands outstretched and reaching for him._

_  
_Hardy awoke with a gasp.

His body trembled, shook.

His mind still swum in endless seawater, with desperate hands.

Black water, floating corpses, merciless eyes and violent blows.

A shriek was stuck in his throat.

Fraught hands clenched and dug around for purchase.

Fingers, clumsy, slipped and shivered against slick tile.

Anything, he needed _anything_ real.

He needed something to pull him from the water.

  
A pair of hands seized his collar.

He was forcefully yanked into a sitting position.

One hand gripped his jaw and forced him to look forward.

His something real came from Joe’s stare.

But his eyes were different somehow.

The color seemed dimmed, washed out.

Hardy still panted and gasped for reprieve.

Mind and body out of sync, tumbling ever faster.

Heart, still so broken, threatened to fail.

He pawed at Joe’s wrist weakly.

But there was no sympathy in Joe’s eyes.

Instead, there was frigid chill.

Detachment Hardy had never seen in his eyes.

Tension in Joe’s jaw and strain in his face.

But still, no empathy, no sympathy.

His hand slipped from his jaw to his neck and _squeezed_.

Hardy choked.

Joe’s free hand raised into Hardy’s line of sight.

  
Clenched in his fist was a rag that dripped.

Without hesitation, Joe gave another rough squeeze.

Hardy’s mouth gaped.

With a flicker of anger, Joe shoved the rag as far as he could, into Hardy’s mouth.

  
The brine, the _saltwater_.

It flooded and invaded Hardy’s senses.

His pupils shrunk to pinpricks.

He immediately tried to spit it out.

Joe responded by releasing his throat to reach behind him.

He pulled out a long strip of dry fabric.

He lunged forward and secured it around Hardy’s mouth.

The saltwater was trapped where it was to trickle down his throat.

Hardy gagged, he choked, he cried muffled cries.

Nothing spared him from the constant presence of briny seawater.

Joe refocused on Hardy’s wrists.

He pulled out a knife and cut away Hardy’s arm bindings.

Before Hardy could move, however, Joe’s hands clasped tightly around his wrists, his palm digging into his still sore wound.

He wrenched Hardy’s arms back and rebound them as before.

More saltwater trickled down his esophagus as Hardy screamed.

  
Joe sat back.

He watched Hardy struggle, squirm, fight against his bindings and gag.

More seawater.

Something rose and burned in Hardy’s throat, but with nowhere to go it sunk down reluctantly again.

Hardy’s pained groan was stifled.

He forced himself to look at his captor.

Joe, however, didn’t seem pleased.

His posture screamed apprehension.

But his expression was the opposite.

He only watched, said nothing, for minutes.

  
He stayed until it seemed Hardy had been worn out.

  
Hardy laid there on the plastic floor, throat already sore, as Joe walked out calmly.

The door was chained and locked once more.

And with only a short last glance, Joe left the bathroom.

  
Leaving Hardy to tremble on the plastic floor.

Seawater continuously dribbled down his throat.

He gagged and coughed.

He tried to steady his breathing, but it was useless.

He sat back against the shower wall as tears rolled down his cheeks.


	11. Chapter 11

She wouldn’t allow Joe to keep her inside, nor her kids.

  
So, despite the risks of journalists and _him_ , Ellie decided to take a walk.

Fred rode along, pulled in his wagon that held his necessary toys and snacks.

Tom also, at a far slower pace, followed behind. Given his outburst yesterday, Ellie felt no guilt over keeping him home from school. The boy dealt with enough already.

  
Of course, she wasn’t stupid either. So, their casual, family walk was guarded by PC Bob, who was more than happy to tag along.

  
It was a mite awkward, and Ellie didn’t miss the frown Tom shot to him, but it didn’t matter.

  
Ellie just needed to get out.

So, they went along, on the same walking path most of Broadchurch used that trailed towards the beachfront. The long, coastal grass swayed and fluttered in the cool, ocean air.

She took a long inhale and sighed. The fresh air was tinged, as always, with sea salt, but now also held the crispness that only appeared at autumn.

Indeed, the grasses, usually a gray green, now veered towards yellow brown.

“ _Might be the last nice day for a walk._ ” She thought absently.

The wagon wheel hit a rock and broke her from her thoughts.

“Ow!” cried Freddie.

She froze and spun around.

“Freddie! You okay, love?” She asked.

“My butt hurts.” Fred mumbled grumpily.

Ellie stopped, then laughed heartily.

Tom, for his part, rolled his eyes in embarrassment.

“Sorry love, did mum roll you over a rock?” She asked.

“Uh-huh.” Fred noted.

“Just a rock, Freddie. Quit fussin’.” Tom mumbled.

“T’was a big rock!”

“You’re a small fry, _everything_ is big to you.” Tom retorted.

“Nuh-uh! I’ve grown! I’m big now!”

“Yeah? Then tell me why I still need to grab the cereal boxes for you?”

  
“Oh look! A park! Let’s stop fighting and have fun! Don’t make mum turn the wagon around!” Ellie said half-warningly, half-playfully.

Luckily, Tom and Fred took the hint. Fred tumbled out of the wagon and bolted for the giant, multi-color playset. Tom stalked over to a bench and stared at his mobile.

Ellie was alone once more, left with the wagon.

“Mam?” asked PC Bob. “Should I stay by you?”

Ellie shook her head.

“Nah, thanks though. Can you stay close to Tom and Fred though? I need a moment.”

“Of course, mam.” Said PC Bob as he joined up with the boys.

Ellie stayed for a moment and watched her co-worker and sons.

Her mouth ticked into a faint smile once she saw Fred immediately pull PC Bob into a game of Pirates and Ninjas.

“ _Right, he has three kids. Course he’d be a natural._ ” She thought amusedly as Bob pulled out his ‘cutlass’.

With a sigh, she set the brake on the wagon and sat in the grass.

  
Knees tucked to her chest like a child, she watched over her boys. The game of Pirates and Ninjas had evolved into an all-out war with all the other children at the playground.

Poor Bob was being swarmed.

Tom, for his part, remained distracted by his mobile. He sat awkwardly, back turned pointedly away.

Ellie paused and puzzled. Her eyes trailed towards where he pointed away from.

  
She stopped and it made so much sense.

  
Adjacent to the park was the skate park. A few tweens and kids skated without a care in the world.

She remembered then. The days before her world fell apart.

Joe took him there, often.

Tom had gotten good on his skateboard.

Sometimes, she’d meet with them there.

Sometimes, she and Joe would share a coffee and watch their son proudly.

She’d been on cloud nine back then.

  
She sniffed and her face steeled into a scowl.

“ _How_?” She thought. “ _How could I have loved a man like him? Someone that cowardly, that deceitful, that_ evil _?_ ”

“ _And how could he throw all of that away? How could he put our life through hell so many times? How could he torment us like this?_ ”

“ _Does he really hate us this much?_ ”

The questions swirled and simmered in her mind. The tears built and flowed.

She realized, only then, that she’d torn a rather sizeable bald patch in the grass.

She released the torn grass and fell onto her back.

As she settled, a flash of yellow caught her eyes.

She rolled onto her stomach and looked out at the distance.

The cliffs loomed far off, green and pale brown broken by lines of yellow that portioned off a white house.

_Hardy’s_ house.

“ _Shit_ …damnit…damnit…” She muttered as she forcefully rolled herself back onto her back.

Her arm slung over her eyes.

Even in the moments where she thought she’d gain reprieve, the ghosts and shadows of everything past and present surrounded her.

There was no escaping it; this town _stunk_ of Joe and held Hardy in every corner.

  
“Well petal, comfy down there?”

  
Ellie’s arm slid away and she cocked one eye open.

She sighed at the sight of Maggie over her, her expression friendly if not slightly concerned.

“Could be better.” She answered. “Enjoying your walk?”

“ _Yes_.” Maggie said with a laugh. “I swear, I don’t know how those kids stare at screens all day. I’ve been editing a video for a few hours and I’m seeing double.”

“I thought you’d be used to it. You used a computer for the newspaper.”

“Ah, it’s just me getting old.” Maggie said with a headshake. “Nothing to be done about that.”

“If only.” Smirked Ellie.

Maggie glanced back at the playground.

“Seems your compatriot there is getting overrun.”

Ellie sat up and watched the play area.

“Oh dear, suppose he _was_ a pirate. Ninjas beat pirates each time.”

“Personally, I think pirates are better.” Smiled Maggie.

“Try convincing the kids that.” Said Ellie with an eyeroll.

“And that’s why _you_ have the kids and I’ll just watch.” Maggie chuckled. “You’d have a better shot than I.”

“Want a bet?” asked Ellie with a look.

Maggie chuckled again.

The two watched the children play for a time. Ellie finally righted herself to a proper seating position when Maggie spoke again.

“I suppose you don’t know how the investigation is going.”

Ellie near deflated at the mention.

“I only ask as a friend; I wouldn’t report anything you know.”

“Well good, because I don’t know anything.” Ellie sighed. “Not on the investigation, so I know as much as everyone else.”

“And? How is that?”

Ellie grimaced.

“Absolute hell. Hate it.”

“Well, now you understand why I do my job.”

“Just wish other journalists were like you.”

“In that?”

“They had common decency.”

Maggie laughed at that.

“Yes, sorry dear, but that’s in short supply in general nowadays.”

Ellie’s gaze grew distant, though she wanted to laugh along.

Maggie didn’t miss this; she slid down to join Ellie in the grass.

“How are the boys holding up?” She asked quietly.

Ellie sighed raggedly.

“They’re managing alright.” She answered. “Think Fred better than Tom. Kids at school are making things hellish.”

“Feared that.” Said Maggie grimly.

“Kids these days.” Said Ellie with a slow headshake.

“And you?”

Ellie paused.

“…I’m managing alright.” She finally answered.

“Guess that’s all you can ask for.” Nodded Maggie.

Ellie remained silent; her gaze fixed upon the distance.

“Five years.” She said softly, near inaudibly. “Five years he left us alone. Then, out of nowhere, he comes back. Destroys everything all over again.”

Maggie sat and listened.

Ellie’s head dipped.

“He was watching us, did you know? Took photos of me, the kids, _Hardy_.”

“Oh petal, I’m sorry -”

“Shouldn’t I have noticed?” interrupted Ellie. “I mean, it’s not like my whole bloody job is _observing_ and _taking note_ of abnormal shit, can’t expect me to see everything.”

“That’s a tad harsh on yourself don’t you thi – “

“A whole bloody _month_!” Ellie near choked as her gaze finally snapped to address Maggie.

Maggie near recoiled at her glistening gaze.

“I didn’t notice anything, for a _month_ , Maggie. How can you forgive that?” Ellie asked, her voice thick.

  
Maggie’s lips thinned as she, cautiously and gently, laid a hand on Ellie’s arm.

“Ellie, please listen,” She said softly. “there was nothing anyone could do to prevent this. That includes you, petal.”

“I’m a _cop_ , it’s my job.”

“But you’re only DS Ellie Miller at work.” Said Maggie patiently. “At home? You’re Ellie. Wonderful woman, a loving mum. You’re not on cop duty.”

Ellie watched her with watering eyes.

“The same goes for Hardy. Neither of you could’ve anticipated this. You shouldn’t _have_ to. And no one could rightfully blame you for what’s happened.”

Ellie wiped at her nose and eyes.

“Alright?” asked Maggie.

Ellie paused, thought, then nodded slowly.

Maggie gave her a warm smile.

“You’ll see, things will turn out fine. They do. From what I’ve seen, you and Hardy have a planet’s worth of luck somehow.”

“Can’t say I agree with that.”

“I mean that you are survivors. Both of you. I _know_ things will be alright.”

A ringtone rang through the air.

  
Maggie pulled back and fished through her purse. She tutted.

“Oh, that’s Jocelyn. I’m late for our lunch.” She said as she stood.

As she started towards the path, she looked back at Ellie.

“Keep strong, alright, petal? Things will be alright.”

Ellie only nodded in response.

“I’ll see you soon.” Said Maggie as she walked away.

  
A part of Ellie had wanted to protest, to argue, to yell.

Maggie had meant well, she knew. She wanted to placate, to comfort, with no clue and no way of truly healing or fixing anything meaningfully.

Ellie knew that.

It didn’t save the words from falling flat and sour in her mind.

Keep strong. _Keep strong_.

What the bloody hell does she think she’s been doing?

Things will be alright?

How could she possibly know that? She doesn’t know Joe!

Ellie ran a stressed hand across her face and sighed once more, wearily.

“ _She’s right, she’s_ right. _I have to stay strong._ ” She thought tiredly.

She shook her head.

“ _He’s alive, he’s alive. He’ll be back, he_ has _to._ ”

Her chin rested against her knees as she finally looked back towards the playground.

Fred ran circles around an exhausted PC Bob.

Tom was still on his mobile.

  
As she watched, a couple strolled leisurely by. The man pushed a stroller.

  
It tugged another memory from her.

_Tom was playing a game of football with his mates._

_She had Fred with her, tugged behind in his wagon, when she saw him._

_“Afternoon Hardy!” She called._

_Hardy, who’d been staring out at the sea, turned on his heel._

_“Miller,” He regarded as he looked at her. “carrying enough?”_

_“Well, Fred was getting antsy, so I thought I take him for a loop around the field – “_

_“Here, my turn.” Said Hardy as he butted in and took the wagon’s handle._

_“Oi! I can handle that!”_

_“I know. I was trying to be nice.” Said Hardy as he tugged the wagon._

_“I’d say I’d hate to see you when you’re being mean, but I know.” Ellie smirked._

_“Shut it, Miller.” Hardy grumbled with an eyeroll._

_  
The two walked along, around the perimeter of the field. Fred kept himself occupied with his toys. A shout or two from the boys was the only sound to break the ambience for a time._

_“So,” said Ellie. “just brooding on your own out here?”_

_Hardy gave her a look._

_“I was_ not _brooding.”_

_“Were you not? Looked like it.” Ellie teased._

_Hardy frowned._

_“Like that. That’s the brooding, grumpy face. Default one.”_

_“Entertained, are ya?”_

_“Might be.” Ellie smirked._

_“I was thinking over the case,_ not _brooding.” Hardy said as he glanced ahead. “What do you think about it being a group effort? The Harrison estate is fairly large, but the number of items claimed stolen is large too, too large for one person to handle in one night. What if the maids and butlers are involved, perhaps a vendetta over mismanagement? Might look over the payroll records, compare to average salaries – “_

_“_ Hardy _.”_

_Hardy’s lips shut and his gaze flitted to her._

_“It’s my day off, remember? I’m out of the office to take a_ break _from this.”_

_“But you’re here now.”_

_“Day. Off. I know you’re a workaholic – “_

_“Am not.”_

_“Sir, you’re the dictionary_ definition _of it.” Ellie said with a look. “It’d also have a cross-reference for the definition of a ‘knob’.”_

_Hardy crooked the corner of his mouth._

_“Worked on that for a while, eh Miller?”_

_“Oh, sod off.”_

_“I’ll give it to you, it was good.” Hardy said with a nod. “Creative.”_

_“Ah, the high and mighty Hardy gives me praise. I should feel honored.”_

_“Am I irking you, Miller?”_

_“At this point, are you surprised?” Ellie said with a look._

_“Fair enough.”_

_  
“Heads up!” cried one of the boys._

_Ellie had a split second to react, but her reflexes were on point, what with raising two boys._

_So, at the boy’s shout, she grabbed Hardy’s lapel and yanked him forward, in one swift motion, to just barely miss being beaned by a flying football._

_“Watch it!” Ellie called back warningly._

_“Sorry, Mrs. Miller.” Chanted the boys._

_“Nice reflexes there, Miller.” Noted Hardy._

_“Oh, trust me, wasn’t bad. Least we got a warning.” Mumbled Ellie as they stood._

_Hardy’s gaze drifted towards where the ball had flown._

_“I’ll get it.” He said._

_“What? I – wait, sir! Sir, it’s steep -!”_

_Hardy didn’t seem to care. He jogged off the path and proceeded to slide down the sandy, unstable hill towards the patterned ball that sat right by a thorn bush._

_Ellie, for her part, stayed by the wagon, her anorak’s sleeves tucked under her armpits._

_“Got it.” Said Hardy as he lifted the ball like a trophy._

_By the time he reached the path, one of the boys had finally made his way over to retrieve the ball. He panted terribly as he tossed the ball back over._

_“Here you go. Try not to kick it that hard.” He said._

_“Thanks, sir!” chimed the boy as he returned to the game._

_Once Hardy looked up, he was met by a look shot by Ellie._

_“Oh, what now?” He groaned._

_“You could’ve got yourself hurt! With your heart and that steep hill – “_

_“I’m_ fine _, Miller.” Hardy grumbled. “Besides, rather I go down than Tom. Don’t want him to hurt himself. Game coming up.”_

_Ellie blinked._

_“Surprised you know that.”_

_“Course. He told me.” Hardy said as he finally caught his breath. “Promised I’d see it.”_

_Ellie’s surprise grew. Her eyes must’ve boggled before she finally checked herself with a clearing of the throat._

_“Well, thanks.” She said as she glanced him over. “You look a right mess now.”_

_Hardy looked down at himself. Indeed, his usually wrinkled suit was now accompanied by patches of sand and dirt._

_“Ah, well, what can you do – “_

_Ellie stepped forward and started dusting off his coat._

_“– Miller, what are you – “_

_“Oh shush.” She frowned. “And you’re joining us for lunch. Nothing fancy, just the chippie. And no winging or otherwise.”_

_  
Hardy blinked and nodded._

_“Aye, sounds good.” He said._

Ellie blinked and the memory faded.

Fred squealed with the other children. The couple with the stroller had long vanished.

She could feel the police-taped house burn at the back of her head.

  
She ignored that.

  
She watched her children.

She was alright.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so that violence warning sort of starts here not fully but just a quick warning, it's quick but thought i'd warn at least plz let me know if more warning is needed

Sleep was an impossibility.

  
It was a double whammy. In his waking moments, the seawater tormented Hardy’s throat and drenched his mouth and senses. To think or focus on anything else was an impossibility.

When exhaustion would take over, his dreams were of nothing but water.

Always back to Sandbrook, always back to the river.

But the river was saltwater now.

Hardy couldn’t decide if remaining awake was better or worse.

  
With no windows or natural light, he had no clue how long he laid there in agony, the brine his only company.

  
All he knew was, by the time Joe finally returned, he was drained and spent.

His body trembled from exhaustion; his senses overtaxed. His eyes were surely bloodshot by now, though there was no way to check.

His jaw ached and his throat protested even the slightest movement.

Joe must’ve seen how pained he was; he lingered by the locked shower stall and just watched for a good few minutes.

Despite his gag, amidst his weariness and pain, Hardy still mustered a glare.

“Fugghh ‘u.” He garbled.

Joe’s expression never wavered.

He watched, cool and detached, until Hardy must’ve stopped being entertaining.

The padlock was unlocked, the chain fell to the floor, and Joe stepped inside.

He crouched down and, almost mockingly gentle, he untied the strip and pulled the gag free.

Oxygen flooded Hardy’s mouth and mixed with the remaining salt on his tongue. It was a blessing and a curse.

While he could breathe, the increased oxygen suddenly made the brine all the saltier and more pungent.

He gagged and the smell intensified.

He barely staggered to his knees before he turned and vomited.

  
The sight finally broke Joe’s unwavering expression.

“Disgusting.” He muttered.

Hardy spat the last of the bile and glowered back.

“Having your fun, Joe?” He asked.

Joe’s expression cooled. He slowly reached for the gag still on the floor.

Hardy, despite how much he tried to fight it, couldn’t stop the slight spike of terror at the prospect of the seawater gag.

And he hated how it must’ve clearly showed, as Joe’s hand stopped above the cloth.

“I’d behave if I were you.” Said Joe quietly. “Plenty of ocean out there. Could gag you again.”

Hardy still scowled at his captor, but remained quiet.

“Good choice.” Said Joe as he reached forward and grabbed his shirt collar.

  
He dragged Hardy out of the shower and back into the accommodation. Like the other days, he tugged him along the floor and towards the pole.

Hardy noticed, however, that the chain and collar were set higher today.

“ _No luxury of sitting then._ ” He thought.

He was pulled upright and shoved against the pole. The collar was fastened around his neck with a sharp tug.

Hardy grunted in discomfort.

Joe then stalked off. He drifted through the kitchen, towards a beer bottle already chilled. He popped it open on the counter before he circled back towards Hardy.

He plopped himself back against the table and took slow, generous gulps of the beverage.

Hardy couldn’t help but dryly swallow; it’d been days, hadn’t it, since he had something to drink?

Joe had drained nearly half the bottle before he set it down with a pop of his lips.

“Sleep well?” He asked.

Hardy refocused himself and returned to that impartial, detective stance. Though, even he noticed, his exhaustion had worn his characteristic cool front down. It was hard to stare down Joe, even with all the reason he had to. His vision wouldn’t stop swimming and blurring.

“Could be better. Didn’t even give me a pillow.” Hardy quipped.

The corner of Joe’s mouth ticked into the slightest, faintest smile. He sipped more beer.

“What, you’re a joker now? Cute.” He said.

“Maybe I’m just tired of this, Joe.” Hardy sighed. “You’re looking for the same thing as the last few days, and you know my answer. You’re not getting me to say it.”

“You really would rather die. Won’t even give a little grace.” Noted Joe with a lazy sip.

“I have integrity, Joe, that’s the difference here.”

Hardy knew he was playing with fire, but Joe didn’t seem to notice.

He only drank his beer with a steady gaze.

“Integrity,” Joe said thoughtfully. “interesting you chose _that_ word.”

He set his beer down once more.

He levelled Hardy with his detached gaze; soul lost somewhere in his body.

“I know I can’t get you to say I’m innocent, Hardy.” He said. “You’re a stubborn bastard, I get that. And maybe that’s not what I want anymore. Changed my mind.”

Hardy gave him a look.

“Have you now.” He said softly.

Joe nodded. He sat back with crossed arms.

“Heard your little chat in the shower last night.” He said. “Talking to Ellie.”

“So, you think.”

“Oh no, you said her name very clearly. No mistaking that.” Joe said, his gaze growing colder. “I just want to know why.”

  
Hardy felt the chill of Joe’s words as he bit his lip.

“She’s my friend, Joe.” He finally answered softly. “Of course, I wish I could talk to her. Even if she isn’t here – “

“Stop. _Shitting me_ , Hardy.” Joe hissed as he surged forward.

Hardy was forced back further, pressed against the cold metal.

Joe panted and his eyes boggled wildly.

“Listen, I’ve had enough of your _shit_ these last few days. All the _lies_. I just want one moment of truth from you, and I’m getting it _now_.” He spat. “Did you shag her? Have you been shagging _my_ Ellie?”

Hardy stared at Joe for a minute.

“Y-You think – “He started. “– Joe, _no_ , that never happened, that’s shite cooked up by that defense barrister – “

“ _STOP LYING_.” Joe roared as his hand bolted for the chain.

He sharply yanked upwards and pulled a choked squawk from Hardy.

“You expect me to believe your little _shit_ story? Expect me to believe nothing was happening between you two?” Joe snarled. “I. _heard_ your little talk with her, or whatever the _hell_ version of her you cooked up. I heard your _voice_ , how you _spoke_ to her. I can figure things out too Hardy, and your little speech was everything I needed to hear.”

Hardy struggled as he tried to form his words.

“T-There wasn’t anything, _hasn’t_ been. She’s my work partner, my _friend_ , that’s all – “

“The night at your hotel room?!”

“S-She needed someone…t-to talk to.” Hardy gasped. “Everyone hated her. _You_ made everyone hate her. She trusted me, and I would l-listen.”

Joe stared at him with simmering hatred.

“And nothing else? You two, for a whole night, just talked?” He asked softly.

Hardy, unable to form words, could only nod shallowly.

  
Joe, for a moment, only stared him down, as if he were weighing each of Hardy’s words individually.

Eventually, he let go of the chain.

Hardy sucked in a sharp breath and coughed. He tried not to let his head drop in relief.

Joe stepped away, back towards the table. He finished the rest of his beer.

It was then that Mackie stepped inside.

“Alright, Joe?” He asked.

Joe nodded slowly.

“Yeah.” He said.

He set the bottle down.

“Is it ready?” He asked quietly, dangerously.

“Yeah lad. Are you?” asked Mackie.

Joe wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Oh yeah. I’m ready.” He muttered. “Take him outside.”

Mackie nodded and swiftly approached Hardy. He unlatched the collar and roughly chucked Hardy to the floor.

Hardy barely had a moment to register the impact before Mackie grabbed the back of his collar and started pulling him towards the door.

Joe led the march paces ahead, his eyes directed towards whatever they were going to.

Mackie followed faithfully behind, giving little regard to Hardy even as he bumped and thumped against the steps.

Hardy grunted uncomfortably as he was once more pulled onto the deck. The cackles of seagulls inundated his senses.

He craned his neck but couldn’t see anything ahead. What could Joe be thinking?

He didn’t know, but he knew he needed to do something. He’d never been taken outside, and he had no intention of finding out what was in store for him, though he might’ve had a guess.

Especially as they dragged him closer to the bow of the ship.

  
So, despite his exhaustion, despite his weariness, he threw his legs in an arc and hooked his ankles around a jutted portion of the wall.

  
Mackie stopped at the sudden resistance.

“Oi! Don’t make this difficult!” He barked as he yanked and wrenched.

“Go to _hell_.” Hardy growled as he stared defiantly.

Joe stopped and turned on his heel.

A crease formed between his eyebrows.

He marched past his friend, past Hardy, and stopped at his legs.

He eyed where Hardy’s ankles clung to the jut and his pupils trailed up.

Then, without another word, Joe raised one foot.

He brought it down, _hard_ , at a spot just below Hardy’s kneecap.

The bone barely protested; it bent back, _wrong_ , and snapped audible to even Mackie.

  
Hardy responded with a miserable, near in-human _howl_.

  
Hardy’s chest near flew to the deck as he twitched and shivered. He cringed as his body recoiled, which only drove more pain from his broken leg as he tried to pull it to his chest.

“ _FUCK!_ ” Hardy screamed as he forced his teeth into his cheek.

His leg throbbed and ached. It pulsated waves of searing pain up into his abdomen, only broken by moments of numbness before the process started over.

“That’ll teach you to stop fighting, Hardy. Don’t think I can’t break the other one just as easily.” Hissed Joe as he stalked up ahead again.

Hardy could only respond with a numbed mumble as he was pulled again.

As the two tugged him along, the seagulls began to congregate on the roof to spectate and mock Hardy’s situation.

Hardy wanted to prepare, to look and see if he could at least know what was coming next, but he couldn’t see anything past Mackie’s towering form.

  
He only could guess when Mackie laid him alone and a crisscross diamond-woven net slapped across his face.

Mackie took one side and Joe took the other as they hoisted Hardy up into the air, like a large sack, with him dangling within. Small weights dangled from the sides of the net.

Hardy had rolled so his eyes faced the deck and, soon, the churning ocean.

Its waves crashed and roared, spraying foam upwards against the ship and Hardy’s face. The water was a dark, grayish-blue, endless like a black hole. The seagulls cawed above him and cackled. Their cries grew pitched and keening, their horrible harmonies ringing in his ears.

They joined his heart, his blasted mended heart, whose rhythm was rapidly pitching upwards and thumping erratically.

He finally noticed his breaths had become nothing but shallow gasps, his vision blurring with fearful tears.

“It’s cute you chose ‘integrity’ to describe yourself, Hardy!” Joe shouted over the cresting waves and roaring ocean. “Because in my opinion? You’re nothing but a filthy liar! A filthy liar who stole my Ellie and my sons away from me, and couldn’t be happy with just them, oh no! Had to make up for your own shite detective skills by throwing _me_ under the bus!”

“J-Joe, you don’t have to do this. You don’t _want_ to do this – “Hardy shamefully begged, his gaze pleading against Joe’s icy cold. He couldn’t even bother with arguing, so great was his terror.

“Oh, would you fucking _shut up_ , Hardy!” Joe laughed harshly. “You’re a man, aren’t you? So, _take your medicine like one_.”

  
Then, at once, both Mackie and Joe loosened their grips on the nets’ corners, and Hardy plunged into the freezing waters.

Immediately, the frigid ocean forced any air Hardy had the sense to hold out of his lungs. Said air was replaced instantaneously by the briny, salty water. The light above him was swallowed by the endless darkness as he sank ever lower, aided by the weights.

If they could be heard, Hardy’s screams would’ve echoed through the infinite depths. His eyes, pupils shrunk to pinpricks, were fixed desperately at what he hoped was the surface.

God, already his sense of direction was gone.

It was nothing but water, unceasing and callous to Hardy’s pleas and terrified strains.

It was nothing but water, frigid and cruel, forcing his heart into overdrive and setting off his pacemaker once, twice.

It was nothing but water, devilish and endless, that pulled visions of Pippa and the river and Sandbrook back to Hardy’s conscious.

The hands, the dozens of hands, reached and clawed towards his face. The pounding of rain, the crashing of river and ocean currents, the wails of her distraught parents and the desperate gasps from _himself_.

Despite his broken leg, he flailed. He fought to break free, to release himself from this hell, but his striking hit only net, which cruelly tangled itself around his arms and legs. Pain from the broken leg, from his burning lungs, from his deprived brain, mixed into a potent cocktail that rushed his mind, clearing away any attempt at logical and rational thought.

There was _only_ water.

Only water and darkness.

Hardy stared at the fading light as his vision wavered. If he could, he would’ve laughed, a strained and maniacal laugh, as his body ceased to fight.

“How long we gonna keep him down there?” asked Mackie.

“Just a little longer.” Said Joe. “Average human can hold their breath for two minutes underwater. With Hardy’s condition, I give him less than one.”

“Mmm, right.” Said Mackie. “You think he’ll finally crack after this?”

“Should.” Noted Joe. “El told me how petrified he was just on a dingy.”

“Sure.” Said Mackie absently.

“Right, let’s reel him up.” Said Joe as he pulled on the line of net.

  
The two kept up the rhythm, pooling endless line of net onto the boat.

The soaked net gathered into messy bundles behind them as they drew more onto the boat. The two huffed and hauled, the net growing heavier.

Finally, the last of the net emerged from the ocean, and water cascaded in thick streams back where it came. Even if one squinted, it would be hard to identify the dark and drenched bundle at the bottom of the net as human.

Mackie and Joe heaved Hardy up until his back bumped against the edge of the boat, his shirt grazing the lip of the boat’s side.

Joe gazed down and observed the quivering and dripping knot that was Hardy.

The detective sputtered and hacked up mouthfuls of seawater mixed with whimpers and wordless noises of distress.

Hardy squeezed his eyes and dared to open them, even at the threat of saltwater rolling into them.

Any desire to fling insults, to curse, had fled. He stared, more a scared animal than a human, at his captor. His lips were drawn into a thin line.

“Finally looks like the rat he is.” Mackie jeered.

“Mm, just like one. Drowned rat.” Joe affirmed.

He had been compared to one before. Who said that?

Hardy’s mind swam around for an answer but came up empty.

All he got was a full-body shiver.

Joe leaned a little closer and examined Hardy’s state.

“Hmm, managing there, Hardy? Almost got one minute down, ready for two?” He asked casually.

Christ, had he been down there less than a minute?

Water dripped from his chin as he shook his head, shallowly but wildly.

“P-Please…” He said, voice shamefully small.

Joe raised an eyebrow.

“Please? Please what?” He asked.

“N-No more…no more…” Hardy said in a near whisper.

Joe seemed to consider his plea. His gaze even softened, ever so slightly, for a moment.

Maybe a foolish part of Hardy hoped that Joe would show mercy. There had been a part of him that was decent, long ago. Maybe that part still existed.

Then Joe let the net bunched in his hands slip an inch.

“JOE!” Hardy shouted desperately. “N-No, no, NO! Stop, PLEASE!”

“Hey, Joe?” asked Mackie cautiously. “Weren’t we gonna, you know, ask him a question or two first? Maybe I’m behind on the plan.”

“We will,” Joe acknowledged. “but you’ve said it plenty yourself:”

The net slipped further from Joe’s hands. Hardy slid forward, face pressed agonizingly into the soaked netting, the churning water hungry below.

“Hardy’s a difficult bastard. So, I’m thinking, let’s save ourselves the wasted breath and give him another dunking or two.” Joe shrugged.

“Suppose that makes sense.” Mackie nodded.

“And you’re right,” Joe said venomously, dangerously cold. “Hardy’s stubborn,”

Slip.

“uncompromising,”

Another slide.

“dare I say fool _hardy_ individual.” Joe laughed darkly.

The net slipped more and pulled a terrified cry from Hardy.

Joe peered over the side.

“I think he can handle a little water just _fine_.”

Their grip on the net loosened completely and Hardy plummeted, once more, into the dark water.

  
He was left down there again, in the darkness and silence and saltwater, for slightly less than a minute. As soon as Joe was sure he was hitting his limit, he’d signal Mackie to pull the net back up.

He’d hold Hardy above water for a minute or so, allow the detective to catch his breath and vomit any swallowed seawater.

Then he’d release his hold on the net again.

  
They repeated this, again and again, lifting Hardy only to dunk him again, leave him near drowning only to rescue him right before death could start to claim him.

Each time, Hardy cried and begged, only to be ignored and dropped again.

He might’ve felt shame, might’ve felt disgusted with himself with how he’d given in, dragged down to pleading and begging with the excuse of a human that was Joe and his lackey.

But the water took away his shame.

It left, however, his terror.

At some point, however, Joe and Mackie grew bored, or perhaps exhausted from the repeated lifting and sinking of a heavy, water-laden net with its half-drowned human cargo.

They’d all lost count of how many times it’d been.

Joe gave a fatigued nod to Mackie to lift the net again. The two worked in tandem, and the net raised and was hoisted upwards. The two unceremoniously dumped it and Hardy onto the deck. They bent down and worked to untangle their catch, who was disconcertingly still.

“Joe, he isn’t moving.” Mackie noted uneasily.

Joe furrowed his brow and didn’t respond.

They pulled away the last of the netting and observed Hardy.

Joe sighed in almost relief and looked up.

“Nah, he’s alive. Probably a bit stunned.” He said.

Stunned was an understatement.

Hardy had long stopped fighting, long stopped screaming. Even in the water, his throat was strained and dry.

His head spun, his limbs ached, his chest burned, his body trembled, his eyes watered.

He coughed up water, water that joined the water sopped from his clothes.

He was cold, so cold. The air chilled him further.

He could only utter wordless gasps and whimpers.

He was still in the water, still with Pippa, still with the hands.

  
Mackie looked over Hardy and shook his head.

“Think we might’ve overdone it a bit, Joe.” He said. “I don’t think you’ll get much out of him now.”

“Hmm, I think you’re right.” Joe nodded. “Hopefully, though, this will make him less difficult for tomorrow.”

“ _That_ , you might be right.” Mackie acknowledged. “But right now, he’s soaked. And that water was cold. He might freeze like this, even if you bring him inside.”

Joe frowned and screwed his face.

“You’re suggesting we leave him…you know?”

Mackie scrunched his face and shrugged.

“Uh, well, only if you think that makes sense. You got all the medical know-how.” He mumbled. “All I’m saying is you don’t want him getting sick or dying overnight.”

Joe glanced back down at Hardy.

“Ergh, I _really_ don’t want to see him nude.” He grimaced. “But I don’t need him sick either.”

“What do we do then, lad?”

Joe snapped his fingers.

“Just the shirt. Should do the trick.” He said. “Don’t like it, but it’s better than nothing.”

He reached towards Hardy and grabbed at the bottom of his soaked shirt.

As soon as he felt the touch of Joe’s fingertips, a new flare of panic flooded Hardy’s dulled senses.

He couldn’t, just couldn’t. He couldn’t go back in the water. Not so soon.

He flinched away, drew himself into a tight ball even as his broken leg protested. He forced an eye open and gave a pleading look to Joe.

He shook his head feverishly. Words were lost to him.

  
Mackie stared in shock. Joe seemed surprised as well.

“Ya know, I’ve lived quite a while and seen things to scare your boots off.” Mackie said softly. “But never seen a man brought to _that_ before.”

“Don’t like it?” asked Joe with a quirked brow.

“Mm, well, he _deserves_ it. Still though – “said Mackie with an uncomfortable shuffle.

“I’ll get him out of sight then.” Offered Joe. “Deal with him back below.”

Joe reached up and grabbed Hardy’s arms.

“No more…N-No more…” begged Hardy near inaudibly.

Joe didn’t answer as he heaved him into an upright position. He then shifted to grab the upper back of Hardy’s shirt as he tugged him along, the detective nothing more than dead weight.

Mackie, for his part, watched with mixed fascination and discomfort.

Hardy continued to beg, mindlessly, endlessly, in hoarse tones as he was pulled along the deck. He continued even as he was pulled back down below.

Joe set him against the back of the bed, still on the floor, as he went for the medical kit.

Hardy barely noticed. His eyes were glassy marbles that stared for unseen miles.

His muttered begging had only started to slow when Joe returned.

He clutched a large roll of gauze and a splint.

He set down the tools and went to grab Hardy’s leg.

  
Hardy barely got the time to look down and realize what Joe was planning before his leg bones were painfully wrenched back in position.

  
Yet, he only managed a pained, strained, cry.

He gasped and shuddered as Joe wrapped his leg with gauze, it now immobilized against the splint.

He didn’t, couldn’t protest as Joe worked his drenched shirt off him. He didn’t feel the relief at his wrist restraints being released.

His work complete, Joe sat back to gaze at his handiwork. His expression wasn’t pleased, but rather contemplative. It seemed like he needed a cigarette to smoke.

He leaned forward and held an open hand, as if to slap sense into Hardy.

Hardy flinched.

“Hmm, better.” Noted Joe as he retracted his hand.

If he were more together, Hardy might’ve glared at that nauseating observation.

Joe gazed at him and pondered whether to restrain Hardy again. He only had to look at the distant and lost look in his eyes to determine it wasn’t necessary for now.

He slung Hardy’s arm around his shoulders and led him back to the bathroom.

He tossed him inside the stall once more and maneuvered his bound leg back into the stall.

He finally shut the shower stall, locked it, then left.

  
Hardy was alone once more.

His first instinct was to pull himself close, keep himself small, from what he wasn’t sure. He curled almost fetal-like, his broken leg protesting but ignored.

His shaking hands tugged his knees against his chest, the best they could, but the bulky splint and bandaging made it impossible. His skin was clammy and freezing.

His soaked hair stuck to the plastic and the odor of his earlier bile clung to the air.

He was still trembling and quaking.

His mind was still empty and foggy.

Hiccups and whimpers escaped his lips periodically.

…

There was movement.

His eyes darted to meet it. His brain sluggishly followed.

Orange. Orange…orange anorak.

Curly hair…long. Ponytail.

Face…familiar…f – _Miller_.

_Ellie_.

  
The Not-Ellie slowed as she approached the glass. She crouched carefully and pressed her hand against the glass.

The expression on her face, knitted eyebrows and strained lines, was mixed-anger, grief, horror, sympathy that hit Hardy in a way he didn’t expect.

It pained him to see that expression on his friend’s face.

The longer she stared, the more strained her expression grew.

Her hand pressed harder into the glass, as if she could phase through.

She looked like she was fighting back sobs.

Maybe she _was_.

“Alec – “She started; voice choked.

Hardy shuddered then, feverishly, shook his head. He tried to say her name, but only a strangled noise like a grunt came through.

“I’m so sorry.” She said weakly.

Hardy’s eyes glistened and he shook his head more. His throat bobbed and his expression strained.

“Alec – “

“N-No, _Ellie_ …” He finally croaked.

“Please Alec, I’m so sorry – “She said as her lip wobbled, and her voice cracked.

“N-Not you, p-please don’t _cry_.” Hardy said as he broke. “C-Can’t if you – “

  
Hardy melted before her, devolved into noiseless sobs and thin cries. The few sounds that escaped were small, child-like and keening. His arms clutched, intermittently, between his legs and his chest, a search for any sense of warmth and comfort in his tiny cell. The trembling of his body never stopped.

  
All the while, the Not-Ellie watched, looking helpless and grieving as Hardy devolved further into his sobbing.


	13. Chapter 13

If she had the funds, Ellie might’ve tried one of those fancy grocery delivery services she’d heard Daisy and Tom talk about.

  
As it were, that wasn’t a luxury she could afford. When the food ran low, she’d need to embark on a trip to the market.

Grocery shopping was a chore she disliked on a normal day, but with current events, she knew it’d be particularly hellish.

At least it started well with a relatively close parking spot. Fred skipped after her as she pushed a cart.

  
It’d be hopefully quick; she had her list and knew where everything was.

She’d be in and out.

  
The automatic doors slid open with a cheery chime.

She walked in with Fred at her tail.

And, near instantly, the energy of the entire store shifted.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. The Latimer investigation was all too recent of a memory, and Joe’s trial was even more recent. Ellie figured she’d be used to having the trials and tribulations of her life be a public spectacle, and she’d seen what Mark and Beth had gone through with the media and their neighbors.

Still, Ellie wasn’t prepared.

This wasn’t like when Joe was arrested.

That was intolerable, but on the level that everyone viewed her as an accomplice, a sick individual as deviant as him, if not worse because she may or may not have covered for him.

The view was different now. No one figured she had a part in Hardy’s disappearance; the concept was daft. There was no scrutiny, no suspicion, no accusations of criminal behavior.

  
Not that what replaced it was much of a consolation or improvement.

She kept her head low, her gaze affixed to the aisles ahead. Still, she could see the multitudes of eyes trained upon her and her son.

Instinctually, she pulled Fred closer.

Most stayed silent, kept their stares just short of being socially unacceptable before they sloppily tried to pretend they’d never stared in the first place, the sale on canned beans incredibly intriguing.

She could see a few whisper and point. They were less than subtle.

When Ellie did dare to meet their eyes, they’d quickly avert their gazes, but not quick enough for Ellie to miss the look in their eyes.

  
All their expressions dripped with pity. Sympathy.

In a bigger city, Ellie knew she might’ve lucked out. Just be another person in the crowd, yet another person who had something unfortunate happen to them.

But that wasn’t Broadchurch. She knew that well enough.

It was only compounded by her being a detective, a member of law enforcement.

So, everyone knew. They knew, but they didn’t _know_.

But they knew enough to grate on her.

“ _That’s the one, right? Her boss was nabbed._ ” She heard one woman murmur to her friend.

“ _Yup_ , _that’s her. Say it’s her ex-husband, that one tried for Danny Latimer’s murder._ ” Nodded the woman’s friend.

“ _Oh, isn’t that just awful. Tragic, poor woman._ ” The first woman politely gasped.

Poor, _poor_ Ellie Miller.

Poor Ellie Miller, whose family seemed cursed by misfortune every step of the way.

Poor Ellie Miller, who foolishly married a paedophile and murderer.

Poor, poor, _poor_ Ellie.

Her hands gripped hard on the cart’s handle. She shoved along, past the whispering bystanders and dove into the aisles.

She near stormed past more onlookers as she hastily grabbed her things. Boxes of cereal chucked into the cart; meat that looked fine enough shoved alongside.

She couldn’t stand it; she needed to get out, _now_.

Poor Fred barely managed to keep pace.

“Mum? Momma? Why are we running?” He asked.

“Just want to get the errands done, love.” She weakly explained.

She grabbed a carton of milk.

“Tom doesn’t like that brand.” Fred pointed out.

“Oh, silly me. You’re right.” Ellie sighed as she grabbed a different brand.

It was more expensive by a whole two pounds.

She muttered something about Tom savoring each drop as she set the glass bottle carefully in the cart.

Added to the cart went a box of macaroni and a bag of pre-washed vegetables. Fred saw a shining bag of crisps and immediately tugged at Ellie’s pant legs.

“Momma? Can I get crisps?” He asked.

“We have crisps at home, Freddie.”

“But not those ones!”

“Freddie, no, another day maybe.”

“But Momma -!” He whined.

“Fred -!” Ellie started to fume as she whipped around.

Her scolding was barely stopped by a tap on her shoulder.

It took all of Ellie’s willpower to not bite the arm off whoever bothered her.

  
“You’re Detective Ellie Miller, aren’t you?”

Ellie feigned a weak smile.

“That’s me.”

“I heard about the kidnapping case. I am so sorry. You must be devastated.” Said the woman, in her mid-50’s with a speak-to-the-manager haircut.

“It’s, um, tricky, but my family and I are managing. Thanks for your concern.” Ellie eked out.

“I just couldn’t imagine.” Continued the woman with a headshake. “I heard the detective say it might be Joe Miller. Do you think? You think it’s him?”

“I’m not part of this investigation, and I’d rather not speculate.” Said Ellie shortly as she tried to push past.

“If it is him, I swear, how awful that’d be.” Tutted the woman. “I believe you’re innocent, you know. Can’t always tell a person. Husband ran over my dear cat Muffin; thought he’d been killed by another cat. Husband lied to me about that for five years!”

“That’s awful.” Ellie said through gritted teeth. She once again tried to walk away, but the woman was an impenetrable wall of well-meaning but woefully executed sympathy.

“Must be tough, losing your partner like that. I remember hearing about the affair. God, to lose _two_ romantic partners so quick…” The woman said thoughtfully.

  
Ellie stopped in her tracks.

  
“I can’t imagine how you feel.” She said.

Ellie hitched a sharp breath. She rubbed the space between her brows and shot the woman a pointed look.

“No, no you can’t, but I will tell you it’s _hell_. Why? Because twats like yourself keep approaching me, thinking they’ve solved the bloody mystery of the universe and thinking they know my business or my life.” Ellie hissed. “Now kindly piss off and mind your own damn business.”

The woman’s mouth gaped, and her brows knit in fury.

“Well I never - !” started the woman.

“And you shouldn’t! Now _shut your gob_ , _fuck off_ , _and let me finish my shopping_!” Ellie growled.

She turned to storm away.

And immediately crashed her cart into another.

  
“Ah, bloody hell…” Ellie moaned as she buried her face in her hands.

“I-I’m sorry! I should’ve looked where I was going.”

“No, no, it’s my fault. Sorry. I didn’t ding you, did I?”

“Nah, you’re…” started the man. “…DS Ellie Miller?”

Ellie reluctantly looked back up.

A tanned man with messy, black hair looked back at her.

“Oh! Uh, you’re the DS. Um – “She fumbled.

“DS Blake Parsons. I know, it’s been a bit.” DS Parsons smiled.

“Feels like it.” Ellie sighed. “Picking up groceries?”

“Yeah, just a few essentials. Get busy and you forget to eat, you know?”

“I kind of know.” Ellie smirked, and she remembered badgering Hardy to eat on a few of their longer cases.

Her smirk faded immediately.

“Ah, well, I’ll let you get to it then.” She said as she shuffled her cart.

“No rush! I mean, well, you might be in a rush. That minced meat?”

“For stroganoff.” Confirmed Ellie.

“Yummy.”

“Duncle Alec!” cried Freddie as he clung to DS Parson’s legs.

DS Parsons stumbled in surprise at the child suddenly affixed to his pant legs.

“O-Oh, Freddie! Love! That’s not Hardy!”

Freddie paused, looked up, and met DS Parson’s gaze.

“Hello buddy!” DS Parson said.

Freddie turned pink and immediately ran to duck behind his mum’s legs.

“I’m sorry about that.” Ellie said with a laugh. “He must’ve seen your pant legs, and you’re wearing that suit…”

“I know. At that age everyone in a suit looks the same. It’s no problem at all.”

Ellie patted at Fred’s shoulder to coax him away, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Fraid he’s a bit shy today.” She sighed.

  
She finally got a good look at DS Parsons.

She frowned.

“Not to be rude,” She started. “but you look knackered.”

DS Parsons laughed.

“Ah, I am I suppose.” He laughed. “Case has been taking it out of me.”

His laugh died away. A flicker of pain crossed his face and he winced.

“S-Sorry. I shouldn’t’ve – “

“It’s fine.” Ellie said quietly. She tucked her arms around her chest. “I know I can’t ask for details, but…have you made progress at least? Anything?”

DS Parsons crooked his mouth. He glanced around and noted the bystanders.

“The old church.”

“What?” asked Ellie.

“Meet me there later. I can explain then.”

“Wha – Parsons, no, you can’t give me any case details, I’m _not_ part of this investigation. If they found out it could compromise your investigation – “Ellie hissed in quiet tone.

“I know, I won’t give you every gory detail.” DS Parsons hissed back. “But…look, I’m a detective, but I’m a human too. You deserve to know _first_. You’re his partner and all.”

Ellie paused. The fearful anger fled her face.

“Besides,” noted DS Parsons. “DI Flint will be giving an update to the press later tonight. You’ll get advance notice, but not by a lot.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” Ellie frowned.

DS Parsons smiled sadly.

“I’ll see you later, DS Miller.”

He walked off with his cart.

Ellie, standing there with her groceries and a slowly relaxing child, was left conflicted and confused.

On one hand, she wanted to keep herself as far away from the case as possible. She wouldn’t let Joe slip away again, not this time.

On the other hand, she _wanted_ to know. She needed to know, anything at all, about whether they’d found Hardy, or at least had a clue where he was.

And Ellie Miller always chose the heart first.

Even if she hated it sometimes.

  
She made her way to the checkout lines, Freddie in tow. The pitying gazes of the other shoppers seemed less important suddenly.

  
\--

The air around churches, to Ellie, always feel odd.

  
It feels colder, chillier, than the rest of the already mild-weathered town. Perhaps it was only intensified by the adjacent cemetery, which brought a grim soupiness to the air as well.

Whether or not anyone agreed with Ellie, she at least knew that despite the partly cloudy day and present sun, the churchyard felt cold.

She traversed the overgrown and neglected grasses, long forgotten about with the parting of Paul Coates, and tread carefully through the markers and headstones, the only area kept neat and tidy.

DS Parsons sat at the bench, the same that, what seemed like an eternity ago, Ellie had questioned Paul on about his computer class.

He gave a polite wave as she approached and, once she drew close, he held up a takeaway cup.

“Tea?” He offered. “Earl grey, nothing special I’m afraid.”

“Ta.” She responded as she sat herself down.

  
They sat apart, a polite distance between them. Ellie sipped her tea gingerly; it was tasty, though it needed sugar.

DS Parsons drank his as well, though he seemed far more fidgety.

A bird cried overhead. Ellie thought she could hear the faint sound of the church bell.

“Your son taken care of?” asked DS Parsons.

Ellie nodded.

“Tom’s home from school so he’s watching him.” She answered.

“Ah, good.”

Ellie’s eyes drifted to the lid of her cup. She watched the steam furl from the hole.

“You really shouldn’t tell me, you know. I-I really…I _don’t_ want to know a thing if it means Joe gets off scot free again. I’ll _strangle_ him before I let that happen.”

“It’ll be fine.” Insisted DS Parsons. “Like I said, the media will know in the next hour or so. Won’t change much.”

“ _Won’t change much_.” Parroted Ellie with a snort. “If only.”

DS Parsons grimaced.

“That defense barrister tore apart every little detail.” Noted Ellie. “Even things that any sane person would find innocent, she spun into more evidence of how negligent Hardy and I were.”

“I know.” Apologized DS Parsons. “I should’ve respected your hesitation.”

“We’re here now.” Sighed Ellie.

“DS Miller – “

“Christ sake _say it_. I know you…you feel _compelled_. You wanted me to hike out here, just please get it over with.” Said Ellie with a headshake. “And maybe I want to hear it too.”

DS Parsons’ lips thinned.

“Right then.” He said.

He sat back and set his cup aside.

“It is your ex-husband, for one. Verified it, beyond a shadow of a doubt. He’s got an accomplice though, so Hardy wasn’t taken easily. Man named Douglas Price, goes by ‘Mackie’.”

Ellie’s face immediately strained.

“Any history on him?” She asked through thinned lips.

“Nah, record wise he’s clean.” DS Parsons sighed. “ _Reputation_ , on the other hand, well he’s got a few enemies. First thing we found were a few op-eds on a town a few hours east. Sounds like he was a suspect in an unsolved assault case. Lots of people saying he’s a former alcoholic who might’ve been an abuser.”

“Christ, a real peach.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Said DS Parsons. “Last records show he’s employed as a sea captain out in Liverpool, same area Joe was last seen.”

“Figures with Joe, can’t leave the ocean far behind.” Mused Ellie sadly.

“You’re right in more ways than one.”

Ellie paused, confused. She turned to slowly meet DS Parsons’ gaze.

DS Parsons, for his part, kept his gaze turned to the hills.

“What do you mean?” She asked softly.

DS Parsons swallowed and sighed.

“I mean,” he started. “we have proof of where DI Hardy is. CCTV footage to back up our theory, but you’re not going to like it.”

Ellie frowned.

“They took him out to sea. He’s on a boat.” DS Parsons said in near confession.

“On a b – “Ellie started.

  
She stopped.

  
_You alright?_

_Don’t like being on the water._

_You’re barely on it._

_  
_Hardy. Water. He hates the water.

And Joe and his goon took him on a –

“The bloody…the fucking…” Ellie bit back every spiting word that wanted to spill forth. Her hand clenched hard around her pant leg.

Her teeth dug into her lip and drew blood.

“Uh, hang on, I have a tissue – “started DS Parsons.

“You can get him back.” Ellie said firmly. “You’ll get him back, even out in the bloody ocean, you’ll _bring him back_.”

DS Parsons looked at her sympathetically, the apology present in his eyes.

“We can’t track them.” He said quietly. “Someone on the boat turned off the GPS and AIS. We have no clue where they are. We’re trying to track his pacemaker, but the signal is spotty. We’ll find them, but it’ll take time.”

“ _Time. Time that Hardy doesn’t have._ ”

Ellie’s blood chilled. She near froze in place.

“I’m sorry, DS Miller.” Continued DS Parsons. “I want to tell you that we’re bringing him back alive, and you know we’ll work our best, but…it’s been a week. There’s logistics against us.”

He started to reach towards her.

“I promise we’ll do our best – “

“ _Don’t_ touch me.” Hissed Ellie. “Don’t you dare.”

DS Parsons paled.

“DS Miller – “

“ _Thank you_ , DS Parsons. I need to get back home.” Said Ellie brusquely.

“DS Miller, please wait!” begged DS Parsons.

  
But Ellie had already stormed away. She could hear him still, his calls for her and his attempts to catch up.

But she’d long blocked them out.

  
\--

_They would visit him once a month._

_  
It was raining this time._

_  
When Ellie arrived, Hardy was already there, long soaked by the downpour._

_Any other day, she might’ve once again assumed he was brooding._

_A bouquet in drenched plastic was clenched in his hand, his head turned downwards._

_  
She slowly approached._

_Her brolly was already open._

_She stood by his side and craned to pull Hardy under her brolly’s cover._

_  
Hardy’s gaze only flitted to her momentarily, but the thanks was there all the same._

_  
They stood together, eyes fixed on the black stone, all that was left of Danny._

_The dead bouquets had already been brushed aside._

_They set down their fresh bouquets and stood there, in a silent vigil._

_  
No words were shared, but the sentiment was the same._

_Perhaps both hoped that, somehow, they granted little Danny_ some _peace, what little he’d been granted._

_  
They’d stay there for a while before they’d depart, the lonely tombstone newly decorated with fresh blossoms._


	14. Chapter 14

The announcement had been broadcasted hours ago, but Beth’s mind was still fixed on it.

  
She didn’t envy the DI, as cool and collected as she seemed, who had to deliver such terrible news in a way that at least suggested a good outcome, as slim as that seemed to anyone who watched.

But mostly, she wondered, and worried, about Ellie.

She wondered about her. She must’ve seen the update, how the investigation was being transferred to the British Navy and the inability to track the vessel.

She wondered just how well she was handling the news.

  
In hindsight, she should’ve called as soon as the broadcast ended.

  
But life, as it usually does, comes in when you least need it to and puts aside all other concerns.

Lizzie, out of the blue, started to throw up after her nap. She was slightly warm, but not running a fever.

Beth was preoccupied with her youngest as well as fixing dinner and prepping paperwork for one of her crisis survivors.

  
Before she knew it, the clock’s hands passed towards eight.

“Mum, your phone’s ringing.” Noted Chloe, who sat at the table with university work.

“Oh!” Beth exclaimed as she set her ladle aside. “Oh, Chlo, love, can you grab that?”

A fussy Lizzie pulled at her pant leg.

“Already on it.” Said Chloe as she jumped up.

“Thanks, dear.” Beth sighed as she gave Lizzie a quick hug. “Liz, love, you shouldn’t be in the kitchen. You’re sick.”

Lizzie pouted.

“It’s Tom Miller, mum.” Said Chloe as she handed the mobile over.

Beth’s brows knitted together as she accepted the mobile.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hello? Beth?”

“Tom? Love, is everything alright?”

“Uh, not, um,” Tom sighed awkwardly. “can you, uh, come over? Please? Mum’s, uh, not doing well.”

Beth’s heartrate spiked.

“Is she safe, Tom? She’s not planning on hurting herself?” She asked calmly as she entered counselor mode.

“Nuh, don’t think so. She’s just…” Tom mumbled. “…shouting. A lot.”

“At you?”

“No. Got Fred and I upstairs. Think it’d scare him to see her.”

“I see.” Beth noted grimly. “Can you keep Freddie calm and safe? I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Sure.” Tom answered. “And, uh, thanks.”

“Of course, love.” Said Beth as she hung up.

  
Chloe, who’d been listening, leaned against the wall with her arms crossed.

“Everything okay?” She asked.

Beth sighed.

“I think Ellie’s not taking the news well. I’m going over, might be out late.”

“We’ll be good here. I got an eye on Lizzie. Call you if anything goes wrong?” offered Chloe.

Beth smiled fondly and gave her daughter a squeeze.

“God, what would I do without you?”

“Go nuts and marry the postman?” teased Chloe.

“Possibly.” Chuckled Beth. “I’ll text you when I can.”

“Ta.” Said Chloe as she plucked her sister into her arms.

Beth grabbed her peacoat and walked out.

  
\--

Through her crisis training, Beth had grown far more comfortable, or at least calmer, when facing situations of emotional turmoil and distress. She’d been trained in the signs, in management, and how to talk-down pent-up survivors and abusers. She’d seen both sides, though was more experienced with victims over perpetrators, and in the years since there was little that surprised her anymore.

  
Yet, still, the silence that greeted her from the Miller home left her on-edge.

  
After Tom’s observation of terrifying shouting, Beth wasn’t completely sure how to interpret the lack of noise.

Had, perhaps, the main crisis passed, and she’d be here for the aftermath?

She supposed that was a bit optimistic.

She knocked on the front door and was surprised when it creaked open.

“El?” She called. “It’s Beth. Are you home?”

At first, there was no reply.

Then, from somewhere in the house, a voice.

“Beth? That you?”

  
She recognized it as Ellie’s.

“It’s me, El. You alright?” She asked.

“Fine! Just fine! In the living room!” called Ellie.

Beth bit her lip and shut the door behind her.

The house was a mess, which wasn’t surprising to Beth. In times of distress such as this, keeping up with chores could be a struggle.

She followed the familiar hallway into the living room, which was a mess, though far different than the rest of the house.

Disconcertingly, this mess involved bottles, either empty or partially drained.

“ _Oh, El._ ” Thought Beth sadly.

“Ellie?” She asked as she looked about.

“Down here!”

Beth paused, then glanced to the floor.

She spotted an outstretched wine glass, half-empty.

She crossed over and found Ellie on the floor, sat upright, her back against an armchair. On one side of her was a half-filled bottle of merlot next to an empty one.

Her hair was a mess, loose from its usual ponytail, and she wore an old, comfy jumper.

“Glad you came! I got another glass, you wan’ one?” asked Ellie, who didn’t wait before she poured a rather generous serving.

“Oh, I’m f – well, uh, thanks.” Beth said as she accepted the glass.

Beth decided to follow suit and joined Ellie on the floor.

She glanced over at the bottles as her mind chugged for a good approach.

“Having a night in?” asked Beth weakly.

Ellie took a healthy gulp of her wine as she nodded lazily.

“Could say that.” She said. “Not dress ta go out.”

“No sitter either.”

“Yeah, Luce is being a shit. As usual.” Muttered Ellie.

Beth cleared her throat and set her glass aside.

“Drink more!” urged Ellie.

“Ah, in a moment.” Beth assured her.

She sat back, her hands laced together and in her lap.

“I was wondering if you watched the announcement. The DI, Flint, I think? It was on the telly earlier.”

“Nah.” Ellie frowned. “Don’t watch the telly much. Not now. Too depressin’.”

“I see.” Beth noted. “Then, the update about the case - ?”

“Oh, OH! Oh, right, you think…yeah,” Ellie chuckled and snorted. “nah, I got…s-special update. Ran into the DS at the market.”

“Did you?” asked Beth; suppressing her surprise.

“Yup!” Ellie answered. “By the way, the people there? Such _bitches_ , just complete _fuckwit wankers_. Gotta shop somewhere else, bloody hell, n-nobody got anything going on but my shite.”

“People were questioning you?”

“J-Just! Just! …I donno, don’ wanna talk about _that_.” Ellie half-spat. “They can all fuck themselves and their stupid haircuts…”

“Hmm.” Noted Beth neutrally. “But the DS, you saw him?”

A flicker crossed Ellie’s eyes, like she boarded her train of thought again.

“Right!” She exclaimed as she took a gulp. “Saw him buying cereal. _He_ said he had an update on the case for me. Nice guy! So _stupid_ , could compromise the case…can’t let _that_ happen again, _fucking idiot_ …”

Beth felt Ellie wasn’t talking about DS Parsons anymore.

“What did he say?” She asked calmly.

Ellie paused. She stared at the maroon drink in her hand.

“Said it was Joe, and some fucker with no prior history. Sea captain.” She muttered. “They took him on a boat, _o-ocean boat_. For fishes… _fishing boat_.”

She shook her head.

“Can’t find them though. GPS, the other one, all offline. Probably on purpose. Big _fucking_ tub of water for them to search, even with the Navy.”

She stared at the ground.

“Said not much time left for Hardy. Probably _dead_.” She said softly, her voice so small.

At that, Beth’s heart broke.

“Oh, El…” She started, but she knew apologizing would do nothing.

Early lesson as a crisis counselor is that _everyone_ apologizes, but whether it accomplishes anything is debatable. For the victim, the _survivor_ , that’s not always what they want to hear.

What she did know was that El needed _someone_ , and that was something she could do.

“…this must be so much to hear. Can’t imagine.” Beth partially lied as she eyed the bottles.

Ellie continued to stare at the carpeting and a strange, manic smirk crossed her face.

“Could imagine, right now, he’d be like ah, least you get the job.” She noted.

Beth couldn’t fight a frown as she looked back at Ellie.

“So, what, he just thinks he’s some obstacle?” She noted.

“As he does! W-With _life_ , damnit, the m-m- _martyr_ he is!” Ellie exclaimed with boggled eyes.

She laughed hollowly.

“Or was! _Was_! Now, possibly, just a bloated corpse in the Atlantic! Thinks a new desk will make it better, huh? _Huh_?!” Her voice pitched up to a shout.

While Beth had seen much as a counselor, this reaction was still disturbing to see from her friend. She had to fight back the green hue that wanted to emerge.

“El, I need you to hear something, if you’ll permit me.” She said softly.

Ellie’s gaze flipped up to her.

Beth swallowed and gave her a steady gaze.

“Everything you’re feeling right now is completely valid. The frustration, the anger, the _grief_ …but as your friend, I’m worried.” She said calmly. “I’m worried that you’re drinking yourself to oblivion and that isn’t a healthy way to deal with this.”

A flicker of guilt crossed Ellie’s flushed face.

“I more worry because you _can_ talk to me. We’re friends, and I’m here for you. And, honestly, I’m worried seeing you like this.” Beth said.

Perhaps she gotten too impersonal, slipped too far into counselor mode. But at the same time, she was at a loss for words.

Still, Ellie swallowed, a not-literal soberness taking over that washed away the mania.

“’m sorry, Beth.” She said quietly. “I didn’ _want_ to talk.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” Reassured Beth. “May I ask why you didn’t want to talk?”

Ellie swallowed thickly; her gaze averted.

“Just…w-wanted not ta think, bout _this_. It’s all there’s been fer _days_.” She said in near whisper.

She smirked and chuckled sadly.

“Oh, Christ, what an arse I am, aren’t I? F – boss’s been kidnapped, and I don’t wanna think about it…”

“You aren’t an ass, Ellie. Really, it gets exhausting, all this case shite.”

“But it’s _n-not_ just…” Ellie shuddered out. Her eyes were watering. “…ah, I’m…I don’t _know_ , Beth. I keep thinking about Hardy, but n-not just worry. I bloody well _am worried_ , but also…”

Beth sat back once more.

“Something else?” She prodded carefully.

Ellie’s gaze snapped up. The lines in her face were strained taught.

“I keep thinkin’ how _kind_ he’s been to me an’ the boys, ever since _Joe_ …” She started as her voice strained. “a-and I don’ know _why_ , but that’s what sticks out. He gave Freddie a stuffed tiger and he watched a movie with me and he saved Tom’s football and he comes over for dinner and he promises to keep me an’ the boys safe…”

“I think you might know, El.” Said Beth softly.

Ellie sniffed and choked a sob.

“El, do you, perhaps, like him? More than a friend?”

Ellie’s expression near broke as she, fervently shook her head.

“Ellie…”

“No, no, no, no, _NO_. NO! NO, I WON’T!” Ellie shouted. She pounded the floor with her fists. “I _can’t_ and I _won’t_ , I won’t _like him_ more than _a friend_ because this is fucking awful enough, a-a-and I _won’t let Joe take more away from me_ , I _won’t_ , because if that _bastard_ , that _fucking cunt_ takes someone like _that_ away _again_ – “

“El.” Said Beth softly, so gently.

But for Ellie, it was the final crack in the dam.

She crumbled, literally fell apart, into Beth’s arms. She sobbed and bawled; she stained her friend’s jacket with her tears.

“I-I can’t, I _can’t_ , Beth. If he’s d-d-dead, I can’t _love him_ , I can’t lose _a-a-another_ …don’ wanna get _h-h-hurt_ …” She wept. “…s-so tired of t-th…”

Beth hugged her back.

“…did I do something wrong, Beth? D-Did I do something to – “

“Oh god, Ellie, no. _No_ , no one deserves anything like this.” Beth said. “Not least of all you.”

“It’s all gone to shit…” Ellie cried. “…I don’t understand…”

“I wish it were so easy, El. Bet everyone does.” Beth noted. “You’re a good person, and you and your family don’t deserve to go through so much.”

Ellie choked and sobbed. She buried her face in Beth’s shoulder.

“That’s it, this is okay. I’m here.” Reassured Beth in a hushed voice.

“What will I do, Beth?” She asked. “If he’s d-dead, I don’t know…”

“Hardy is tough, just like you.” Beth said. “I don’t think he’s gone.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t.” acknowledged Beth. “But from what I know about Hardy, he’s a stubborn bastard. With that heart of his, escaping death? Just another day for him.”

At this, Ellie gave a snorted, ragged laugh. She continued to laugh until she devolved into more tears and weeping.

“It’s okay, El, just let it out.” Beth hushed.

“I wish I could do something…” mumbled Ellie. “I _hate_ being stuck at home, useless, while Joe’s got his paws on him, doing god knows what…”

“You’re not useless, El. You’re doing what you can.” Beth reassured her. “And honestly? You’re handling this _amazingly_.”

“My house says otherwise.”

“Well chores are shite on a normal day.” Laughed Beth. “Think you have an excuse.”

Ellie chuckled and sniffled, her tears slowed to a crawl.

She lifted herself away, exhausted and drained, and wiped her remaining tears with her sleeve.

“Remember, El, you’re not alone through this.”

“Maggie said the same thing the other day.” Noted Ellie.

“And she’s right. No matter what, we’re with you. We can help you through this.” Beth reassured her.

Ellie nodded wearily.

“I’ll get you water.” Offered Beth as she stood.

Ellie offered no protests.

Beth soon returned with a cup of water.

“Beth,” said Ellie hoarsely. “can you check on the boys? Think I right scared them.”

“Course.” Said Beth. “Be right back. Just sip on that for now.”

Ellie nodded and lifted the cup to her lips.

Beth walked up the stairs and knocked on Tom’s door.

The door cracked open and Tom peeked out.

“Alright?” asked Tom.

Beth sighed and nodded.

“Yeah, she’s better. Got her drinking water.” She said. “What about you and Fred?”

“Fine.” Said Tom. “He’s playing with his toys.”

“Ah, good lad.” Smiled Beth.

Tom looked at Beth.

“Is mum gonna be alright?” He asked softly.

Beth’s smile wavered.

“Think she needs time and lots of support. She’ll need you both like you need her.” She said.

“Is she sad about Duncle Alec?” piped up Fred, who squeezed his little face between Tom and the door.

Tom fought a frown as he was shoved by his brother.

“She is, love. She’s worried about him.” Confirmed Beth.

Tom shot her a concerned look, but Beth returned with a reassuring glance.

“Momma loves him, I think. Doesn’t she?” asked Freddie.

Tom and Beth froze.

“W-Wait, wha – “Tom stuttered.

“She _cares_ a lot about your Duncle Alec.” Said Beth quickly. “So, she’s worried. And she’ll need you to help her too, Freddie. And she’ll keep helping you, of course.”

Freddie nodded and looked down, sagely, in thought. He turned, suddenly, and darted back into Tom’s room.

A minute later he returned and held out his Power Ranger to Beth.

“He’s strong, Red Ranger’s the leader. He can help momma.” Affirmed Fred.

Tom smiled and shook his head. Beth nearly teared at Fred’s gesture.

“Thanks love, I’ll make sure she gets this.” She said.

As she turned away, Tom piped up one last time.

“Um, thanks, for helping Mum.” He said.

Beth stopped and smiled.

“Of course, love.” She said.

  
When she returned to Ellie, she was wrapped up in a blanket and asleep on the floor.

The cup of water was nearly empty.

Beth carefully went about cleaning up the bottles and tucking a pillow under Ellie’s head.

She set the Power Ranger right by her hand.

She looked about; she figured Ellie shouldn’t be alone.

She scrounged up another pillow and blanket and set up the couch.

She sat and pulled out her mobile.

_Going to stay over tonight. Ellie needs a friend_

Her phone pinged.

_She ok?_

_Case got to her. Drank too much. Just going to keep an eye on her_.

A response.

_Ok, let me kno if you need anything. Lizzie says night_

Beth smiled.

_Thx Chloe, love you both_

She set her mobile atop the arm rest and wrapped herself in the blanket.

  
She glanced over one more time to Ellie, ensuring she slept on her side, before she settled to sleep as well.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR CW: please please be aware that that "graphic depictions of violence" warning? APPLIES HERE, this chapter is SUPER INTENSE so please please please take care of urself and mind the tags. i promise this is the darkest it gets, things gonna get better in next chapter and forward but PLEASE beware this chapter is brutal and poor hardy gets hurt A LOT
> 
> if more warnings are needed plz let me kno i really want to make sure people are kept ok, plz let me know if other triggers need to be tagged

Just days earlier, he couldn’t stand the feeling of loneliness.

  
Now, he couldn’t stand the idea of anyone seeing him. Not like _this_.

  
Hardy hadn’t woken up. Not completely.

Physically, his eyes were open, and he could technically take in his surroundings, dark as always.

He could feel the shower still dripping atop his head, though now it felt muted.

He could feel the ache of his limbs, lungs, and throat.

He could feel the dampness of his cheeks.

  
Mentally, however, he was lost in a fog.

Truthfully, he hadn’t left it. Not since last night.

For the first time in a week, he was unbound, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Even the twitch of his fingers felt like a herculean task.

  
He’d barely slept.

He had tried not to, but his body forced him. When he did, it was all the same.

Locked in a chest, buried underground, snakes twisted around his throat and limbs, hands that pushed and choked him.

And screams.

  
He shivered. Joe might have removed his soaked shirt, but he’d neglected to towel him.

He’d laid all night in the brine of the ocean and his own bile.

The saltiness was a wicked final curse to haunt his dreams, even the ones without water.

  
He barely reacted, _could_ barely react, as the door creaked open.

Joe’s shadow filled the light as he entered. The shower stall was unlocked and thrown open.

Hardy’s whole-body tensed and he, ashamedly, curled himself tighter, smaller.

He wanted to be ready when Joe’s cruel hands reached for his throat.

  
Except, they didn’t.

  
Joe, instead, reached for his head. His fingers dug into his hair and curled, and he pulled back.

Hardy let out a weak, pitiful groan as he was tugged along, yanked like a child’s toy, across the floor.

His ribs and limbs bumped painfully against the lip of the shower as he was dragged over, and he yelped as his bound leg thumped against the plastic tub.

He was dragged along, out of the bathroom and back into the accommodation.

He kept limp and didn’t protest.

Joe, interestingly, had yet to say a word.

He was tugged back to the pole, the collar still set high from yesterday.

Joe let go of his hair and turned on his heel.

He glowered down at him.

“Stand up, Hardy.” He said firmly.

Hardy couldn’t offer a quip. Instead, he wearily lifted his head and tried to look incredulous, but instead looked exhausted.

“I said _stand_ , Hardy.” Repeated Joe.

“Can’t.” Hardy finally responded. “Leg broken.”

Joe sighed annoyedly, reached down, and yanked Hardy up by the hair.

Hardy gasped and hissed at the sharp pain.

He was shoved against the pole and the collar was buckled.

It took everything in Hardy to not slump to the ground once more. The dig of the collar helped slightly.

  
Joe sat back once more, a mirror of yesterday. Just like yesterday there was a bottle of alcohol on the table.

It was stronger though, now a rather sizeable glass bottle of whisky.

He took a swig of the alcohol and smacked his lips. He stared down Hardy, his eyes fixed lazily, mismatched with the light reflected in his gaze.

It spoke contempt, disgust, but also weariness.

Or maybe not weariness, maybe a strange form of resignation.

He wasn’t sure. If Hardy were asked, he’d probably admit his deduction skills weren’t as sharp as usual right now. He could barely focus straight ahead.

Joe sighed and, palms supporting him, leaned a mite forward.

“So,” He started. “think you’re about ready? Gonna actually _cooperate_ for the first time this trip?”

The words swam around Hardy’s mind and it took a hot minute for them to land properly, and a half-second longer for him to decide his answer.

He gave a slow shake of the head. Any faster and his mind might reel.

“M-no, not…not _innocent_ , you _said_ …” Hardy mumbled in scattered thought. “…El’s a friend.”

Joe just nodded. There was a slight flare of disbelief, a hitch of tension in his facial muscles.

“Still going.” He noted thoughtfully. “Thought you might throw in the towel, but nope. Still stubborn.”

“N-Not stub…just te-truth.” Hardy choked.

Joe nodded again.

A moment of pause, then Joe stood to his feet. He approached Hardy at a dangerously relaxed pace.

He then turned sharply and threw his hand up, a threat of a strike.

  
Hardy flinched.

  
But Joe’s hand never landed.

  
It lowered back to Joe’s side and the man stared Hardy down with mixed frustration and confusion.

“Hmph, you’re terrified.” Joe grunted. “Yet still, nothing.”

“Won’t get it, won’t get it, _won’t get it_ …” Hardy repeated in mumbled tone. “Never, n-never…”

Joe paused, as if to chew on Hardy’s rambling.

His gaze lowered and, if Hardy was right, he thought a shimmer of pain flickered across his eyes.

His hand balled into a fist.

Then he slowly crossed back to the table and resumed his earlier position.

“Maybe you’re right.” Said Joe finally, his voice quiet.

Hardy’s rambles stilled to silence. He cautiously met Joe’s gaze.

The menace had mellowed. Perhaps, for the first time in days, he saw a strange earnestness in Joe’s eyes.

Of course, at this point, earnestness was relative. Thus, it only stoked the nervousness brewing in Hardy’s gut.

  
“It’s like trying to push a brick wall down, talking to you.” Joe noted. “You won’t budge, will you?”

His hands fumbled for the whisky bottle and he took a long swig.

“Meaning,” He swallowed. “El, my boys, good as gone for me. Never see them again.”

His eyes watered.

“Like they never happened. They _hate_ me. Maybe I should’ve been thrown in prison, at least then there’s bars keeping me from them. Here? Just…hatred.”

His gaze flicked back to Hardy.

“Hatred and _you_.” He noted darkly.

“E-El…Miller is moving on.” Hardy finally said, voice thick. “Best for her, the boys, is if you stay away.”

“And you keep acting like you _know her_.” Laughed Joe hollowly. “Then again, if you’ve been shagging her, maybe you _do_ know her.”

His laughter died out.

“Then again, maybe you still don’t.” He said. “I was the one who watched after the boys. Brought Tom to the skate park. Watched after Fred. Now she has to do that and her job.”

“She’s handling it b-beautifully.”

“So, _you_ think, and you’re really one to talk about parenting?” Joe prodded with a quirked brow. “Tell me, how’s your daughter? How’s she after you _abandoned_ her for years?”

This stoked a fire that, even with exhaustion, even with trauma, Hardy felt the burn.

“Y-You how _dare you_. D-Don’t bring Daisy into this, I-I did…did what I could. I _do_ the best I can. I didn’t _murder_ her classmate, don’t you d-dare suggest I’m less fit than _you_ to talk about parenting.” Hardy growled.

“At least I didn’t disappear from my sons’ lives. Not by choice.”

“You BASTARD, you BASTARD HOW DARE YOU!” Hardy snarled and, for the first time, he thrashed against his collar.

  
Joe slipped back and watched, half morbidly intrigued, as Hardy fruitlessly reached and swiped at the air between them.

“You know, this would be funny if it weren’t so sad.” Joe noted.

“Y-You piece of shite!” spat Hardy.

“Was wondering when your famous tongue would come back.”

“I-I was trying to protect my daughter! What excuse do you have for lusting after a child?! What excuse do _you_ have for murdering Danny??” Hardy glared.

The amused smirk faded from Joe’s face.

“I swear Joe,” Hardy panted. “as long as I live, I will _never_ let you get close to Ellie or the boys. _Ever_. You are a _menace_ , a danger to society, a _poison_ to anyone who’s been unlucky enough to know you. And if you think I’ll give you a single iota of anything that you’re looking for, you can go _straight to hell_.”

Hardy’s breathing was labored. He felt Joe’s stare ice over.

His captor stood and stalked over, slowly.

“You know, I believe you.” He said quietly. “As long as you’re here, I’ll never get my family back.”

His hand swept the chain into its grasp and yanked upwards. The terror returned to Hardy’s gaze.

“And that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? On this boat, _I_ can get what I need. _You_ can’t do a damned thing and, since you took my Ellie away from me, I can at least make sure she’ll want _nothing more_ to do with you.”

  
Hardy’s glare, fiery and enraged, extinguished. Replaced by confusion and anxiousness.

Joe released the collar and strolled away, careful and casual, to the counter where a small, plastic box sat. He popped it open and rummaged through its contents.

“Remember when Tom was little,” He said. “he broke one of my mugs. He lied, said it fell on its own. First time he lied to me. Knew right away and told him that lying isn’t acceptable. That liars are sneaky, manipulative, awful lot. Not good to be.”

He chuckled silently.

“He apologized, felt _awful_ about it. He said something about wishing he could tell when someone lied to him. Wish he could _see_ it. Now, wouldn’t that be nice?”

He plucked something out and turned around.

Hardy’s gaze fixed upon the object, thin and metal, in Joe’s hands.

A surgical needle.

“Wouldn’t it be _nice_ if the filthy, worthless people in the world just, you know, _advertised_ it. No hiding, no tricks. Just a quick look and you’d _know_ if they’re worth your time or not.”

He plucked a small, plastic lighter from his pocket. He flicked the ignitor and a steady flame plumed under the needle.

The metal blackened, then glowed a fierce orange.

Hardy’s pupils shrunk to pinpricks.

“And, at the very least, scars are pretty _ugly_ , ‘specially if they’re big. Don’t think _I’d_ sleep with someone who had something like, oh, _liar_ written across their chest.”

He stopped right before Hardy. He flicked the lighter off.

“Don’t think El would either.” He said thoughtfully.

“Joe…” Hardy started fearfully.

  
The needle’s point hovered over his chest, near his pacemaker scar.

Before Hardy could finish his plea, it _plunged_.

The sensation, burning and digging and cutting and _searing_ , dogpiled in Hardy’s senses. His vision turned red, synapses misfired, a strangled scream was all he could manage.

The needle was suddenly moving, downwards. He felt his skin singe and hiss. There was a slight, unpleasant odor in the air.

He twitched and jolted as the needle moved right.

“ _Stop_.” Joe warned with a backhand to the cheek.

Hardy’s head swerved and tilted. He coughed and gagged on a sob that rolled out. The needle pulled away, but only for a second.

It plunged in again and dug through more skin. Hardy could feel the old scarring, once kindly stitched together by a careful surgeon, be ripped and shredded by Joe’s wicked handiwork.

The needle was removed again. There was a reprieve as Joe relit the lighter and heated the needle again.

Hardy gasped and shuddered. Sweat beaded and rolled down his skin. Some slid across the open wounds and drew a hiss from him.

Joe only stalled to complete two things: to swallow another mouthful of his rapidly depleting whisky bottle, and to tighten the collar around Hardy’s neck.

  
Then he surged forward with the needle again.

  
Agonizing minutes passed, minutes that felt like hours. Hardy had long moved from hisses and sobs to gags and whines. Tears rolled down his face shamefully, and he forced his eyes shut if only to block out Joe’s current bout of torture.

His whole body was alighted with tension, adrenaline coursed through every vein. It only made the pain more intense.

His ears rung; his thoughts swum in aimless directions; his tongue was like sandpaper.

And, suddenly, it was over.

  
Joe stood and cracked his back as he staggered back to the table. He took another hearty gulp of the whisky.

He gazed at his handiwork with a sick admiration. He nodded.

“Fits you perfectly.” He noted. “Now El will know _exactly_ the kind of man you are.”

Hardy’s head remained slumped; his eyes forced shut.

“Come on, give it a look! Come on, Hardy.” Joe coaxed with a sickeningly sweet voice. “You’ll have to look at it for the rest of your life. Might as well get used to it.”

“S-S-Stop.” Hardy shuddered.

“Stop?” Joe parroted. “You want me to stop?”

Hardy sniffed and fought back a whimper. He could feel the blood as it trickled down his chest.

Joe swallowed more whiskey and popped his lips.

“Beg then.” He said. “Beg me. Do it, Hardy. Beg like the _dog_ you are.”

Hardy remained silent. He stared, not in defiance, but exhaustion.

Joe barked out a laugh.

“You piece of shit! Do you really think you have something to lose?” He jeered. “Leashed like a mutt and half-starved, you still think that this little _act_ of yours will get you somewhere.”

He swallowed more whisky. The bottle must’ve been half-empty by now.

“Why not get some comfort from _Ellie_?” Joe mocked. “Or whatever fucking thing you made up, you sad _fuck_ , to keep you company. Go on! Plead! Cry for her! I wanna hear it, just to know what a miserable _bastard_ you really are.”

Hardy said nothing. He kept his eyes shut and refused to even lift his head again.

Joe’s smile wavered, the drunken jolliness shifting to something darker.

“Or, maybe it can wait.” He said dangerously quiet. “Maybe I’m not done yet.”

With fumbling fingers, he snatched the needle up again.

The bottle near tumbled off the table when he slammed it down.

“Round two, Hardy.” He grinned.

The needle dug in again.

  
Blessedly for Hardy, the next round of carving and burning was doused and muted by the already swirling pain in his cortex and the resolution to not _beg_ that remained in his mind. It didn’t stop him from screaming as the needle pierced his flesh, but somehow, he felt his mind was sparing him from the worst of it.

A second word joined the first, this one on his stomach. The blood flowed thick and fast now, and the lightheadedness was starting to hit him.

The word hadn’t been carved as neatly as the first one, most likely a result of Joe’s copious alcohol consumption. Hardy could tell, the needle had fumbled in diagonals and at varying depths that agonized the experience.

There was the pinch of fingernails as his jaw was squeezed. His head was wrenched up.

“Look at you! Such a brave little _detective_. Too proud to beg. Or too _stupid_?” Joe spat.

He smeared some of his own blood on his chin, in his beard, and Hardy couldn’t hold back his shudder.

“Not even… _look at me, Hardy_.” Joe growled.

His knee connected with Hardy’s inner thigh.

Hardy yelped and his eyes shot open.

“Much better.” Joe smirked.

“Y-You’re sick…” Hardy gasped.

“Oh, _shut it_.” Joe hissed. “Your opinion of me means _nothing_. Not here. You are _nothing_ here.”

He threw away his grip on Hardy’s jaw.

Joe drunkenly staggered over and took another drink of whisky. He sighed wistfully as he glanced over the bottle’s label.

“El and I shared this on an anniversary. S’our fourth.” He recounted. “Tastes like shit, she said so too. Still grabbed this soon as I saw it.”

Hardy, for his part, was barely paying attention. He’d long been overcome by trembling that clacked his teeth against each other.

Joe took a smaller sip.

“Tis all I got of her now…shit whisky. All I got left.” He said as his voice dipped.

He clutched the bottle close and tipped his forehead against it. He looked ready to topple, but he somehow remained upright.

The bottle was slammed back onto the table and, instead, Joe fumbled for something.

  
A bright flash flooded the room.

  
Hardy winced and, reluctantly, opened his eyes.

In Joe’s hands was a polaroid camera. A small square rolled from the bottom.

“ _Shake it like a polaroid_ …” Joe mumbled to himself, almost jovially, as he shook the square.

Hardy finally dared to look over.

Joe slapped the film onto the table.

“Takes a minute to develop.” Said Joe. “Got time.”

“Y-You’ve gone m-mad.”

“Oh, _I’m_ the mad one?” Joe laughed. “Nah, don’t agree.”

He glowered at his captive.

“I just want to make sure you know exactly what you look like.”

He gazed over Hardy, over the wounds that now littered his chest and stomach. He nodded in approval.

“ _Now_ you look the way you should.” He said. “Sick fucker like you. No one will touch you again, especially not El.”

“S-She won’t touch you either.” Hardy hissed.

Joe stopped.

He surged forward and gripped Hardy’s jaw harshly.

“Mind repeating that, _mate_?” Joe hissed softly.

Hardy swallowed thickly.

“If I were stupid, I’d almost think you _want_ me to keep hurting you. Is that it? Some sick little masochist or something?” Joe said through gritted smirk. “Well,”

He fumbled the buckle loose.

“wish granted.”

  
In a singular motion, he squeezed Hardy’s jaw and threw him face-first into the table.

A hard _crack_ rang through the room and Hardy’s head spun.

He groaned and more blood flowed, this time from his face.

Joe ignored him and smashed his face again into the hard wood and kept it there.

Hardy heard the scrape of the needle and the pain started all over again.

The word was the longest so far, Hardy counted seven letters. Somehow, though, it was the most and least painful.

The adrenaline in his body had long flooded the worst of the sharp pain, but his exhaustion sent his senses into overload. It took all he had left not to break into hysterical weeping.

An eternity later, the pain had stopped. He no longer felt the needle buried in his skin.

He heard the seat cushions squish as Joe sat away from him. There was quiet, and Hardy realized Joe was waiting for him to meet his gaze.

“Polaroid’s developed, Hardy. Look.” Joe confirmed.

Hardy didn’t, he didn’t want to see. But he also couldn’t take another punishment; he barely withstood the third.

So, as his body trembled violently, he lifted his head, just barely.

  
He nearly broke down crying.

  
Oh _god_.

Days of captivity, days of torment, days of sleepless nights and being bound, had rendered Hardy somehow a thinner and empty shell of himself. Cheekbones jutted from sunken skin, eyes were near swallowed by dark circles and skin was a sickly gray. His bangs were plastered to his forehead, the rest was greasy and untamed. His beard was a prickly mess.

He somehow looked worse than he had during Sandbrook, during the Latimer case.

He looked like walking _death_.

His torso, already far too skinny and bony, was even thinner and spotted with bruises of varying color. Some were circular bruising, others were in defined shapes of fingers, palms, and feet. His abused ribs were red and purple.

But worst of all was Joe’s latest handiwork.

Across his chest, right over his pacemaker scar, carved in block letters and bleeding lightly, was a single word: _LIAR_

Across his stomach, another word, more jagged and less refined: _PIG_

The third was still a mystery.

  
Hardy uttered a half retch, half cry. He laid his forehead back down on the table as he finally broke down, his weeping hoarse and pitched.

Joe, for his part, spectated. He sipped more whiskey and just watched, the jovialness fading as the high ended.

“Should wash those out.” He mumbled. “Could get infected otherwise.”

Hardy stilled and stiffened.

“Right, let’s go. Nice and fast, I know where we can get _plenty_ of water.” Joe huffed as he staggered to his feet.

Hardy already knew what he was talking about.

“N-No… _no_ …” He started.

Joe’s hand gripped his hair and he was led outside.

  
The net was in sight as soon as Hardy stepped outside.

“No, no, no, no, NO!” Hardy shrieked.

Joe ignored him and yanked him in another direction, away from the net.

He threw Hardy to the ground and the wood bit into his new wounds.

Hardy cried out, but his voice was barely audible, so worn from his ordeal.

The boards creaked and he heard metal scrape across the wood. The waves rolled beneath them.

As he shivered in the cold air, he finally looked up once the boards stopped creaking.

  
Joe loomed above him with a bucket.

  
Hardy didn’t have time to yell before its contents were upturned over him.

  
The salty, freezing water splashed across Hardy’s body and filled every nook it could find with bitter salt and brine, including his fresh wounds. It tore a wicked howl from Hardy as raw flesh mixed with salty water, blood with ocean.

Water rolled past his lips and strangled his cry. He writhed and rolled onto his back, which only irritated the word carved into his shoulder blades and pushed more seawater into the wounds.

He panted. He hissed and seethed. Ragged whines crept forward as his tears mixed with the ocean water.

  
“Joe – “

Hardy could barely open his eyes at the voice. He hadn’t heard Mackie approach.

He was slightly more surprised to see Mackie, not staring in fascination or glee, but with horror.

Mackie looked him over before he looked to Joe.

“Hey, Mackie! Trouble?” asked Joe.

“Oh, nah lad, no trouble. Just heard a scream.” Said Mackie who looked at Hardy again. “Ah, though lad, think this might be enough for today?”

“Really? Enough? You think so?” Joe swayed.

“Aye. Not sure _you’d_ be up for it either. Think you’ve had enough to drink.”

Joe blinked and thought a moment.

“Guess I hit the bottle a bit hard.” He chuckled.

“Sit down, lad. I’ll bring him back below.” Said Mackie as he crouched towards Hardy.

  
Hardy, for his part, hadn’t said another word. He, however, winced and flinched away from Mackie. He shook his head fervently and curled inwards even as it agitated his wounds.

Mackie said nothing and only led him to his feet. He pushed him along and back below.

He deposited Hardy back in the shower stall, far more gently than the other days.

He gave Hardy one last look before he relocked the stall door and left the bathroom.

Alone. He was finally alone.

The pain hadn’t stopped, but at least Joe wasn’t there.

He hacked and coughed, and his chest seized. He groaned and curled into himself.

The shower stall glass projected a hazy image of him; the details were foggy, but Hardy didn’t need to see everything to know he look like a wreck.

He’d felt three words be cut into his skin. He knew two of them, both awful and cruel. The third was a mystery he didn’t want to solve.

  
He might’ve laughed at that concept, a mystery that he didn’t want to solve, had the circumstances been different.

  
For now, all he wanted to do was lay on the cold floor and pretend, as much as he could, that he wasn’t here. That he was dead.

The door opened.

A figure approached him quietly, carefully, and stopped at the shower stall.

He flinched and curled as tight as he could, even as his wounds protested.

“ _No, no, no, not again. Not so_ soon _, you just left me._ ” He thought fearfully.

He didn’t hear the padlock unlock, nor the door creak open.

But he heard footsteps behind him.

He heard the rustling of clothes, the sound of someone crouching beside him, the squeak of shoes sliding across the plastic floor.

He whimpered and awaited a blow.

Hands reached towards him and pulled him back. He felt smooth fabric against his cheek.

A hand touched the top of his head and he bit his cheek, ready for his head to be yanked back.

“No…n-no…stop…” He pleaded weakly.

  
But the hand didn’t yank.

Instead, it carded through his hair, carefully. Fingers wove through his locks and gently stroked at his scalp.

  
A shudder escaped his lips. His eyes shot open.

His pupils flitted upwards.

“ _E-Ellie_ …” He gasped in relief.

Not-Ellie looked back, her eyes weary but her smile soft and warm.

“Hello, sir.” She answered softly.

Her hands, gentle and soft despite years of hard work, continued to pet his head.

A sob rolled up Hardy’s throat and choked out. Her touch, loving and gentle as it was, burned after so many days.

“Shh, come here.” Said Not-Ellie as she, carefully, pulled him into her lap.

That only made Hardy sob harder, louder. He curled against her pant leg, like a frightened child, and pressed his face against her leg.

One of her hands moved from his scalp to an uninjured spot of his arm.

Her arm delicately and lightly wrapped around his biceps and pulled him into a careful hug.

It was barely a hug, but oh it was _lovely_.

  
Hardy keened a weak cry. The zipper of her jacket scratched his cheek.

Soon he was maneuvered into a hold, almost cradled in Not-Ellie’s arms and lap. His head tucked under her chin.

She held him as close as she dared.

The Hardy of a week ago wouldn’t even _dare_ imagine something like this, but that Hardy hadn’t gone through hell.

“E-Ellie…” He croaked.

“Hmm.” Not-Ellie hummed.

“Ah…t-thank y…” Hardy barely eked out before he began to weep again.

“Shh, it’s okay. You don’t have to thank me.” Not-Ellie said. “Though you might owe me a cleaning for the jacket.”

“I-I’ll pay, pay anything. Buy you a _new_ jacket, just…don’t leave. Please.” He said desperately.

Not-Ellie paused.

“I won’t, Hardy.”

She held him there for some time, her hands gentle and careful. Hardy shuddered and coughed through the waves of tears and exhaustion.

Eventually, however, his crying ceased. He laid like a zombie in her arms, eyes glassy and distant.

“I’m trying, Ellie. I-I’m trying to s-stay alive, but – “He started.

“I know. You’re doing _amazingly_.”

“ – d-don’t know if I can _handle_ more.” He cried. He pressed his palms into his eyes. “I-It’s _too much_ …”

“You won’t have to. I have a plan and I think it’ll get us out of here.” She said as she hugged him close. “I just need you to hold on one more day.”

Hardy’s fingers played mindlessly with her zipper teeth.

“One more. C-Can, w-will do…” He said tiredly. “…love you, love you, love you…”

  
Not-Ellie paused, gave a warm smile, and leaned close.

She whispered softly her plan, the details, the steps Hardy would need to take.

He took it in, and it felt so crazy, crazier than the last plan, but it was all he had.

He took her plan like a bedtime story to lull him, finally, into some form of sleep.


	16. (NOT) THE END

After last night, Ellie woke with a pounding headache and a churning stomach. In her experience, the one thing to cure both would be fresh air.

  
So, despite the chill in the air, she took her tea and sat on her porch.

  
The air, cool and damp with the remnants of dew, clung to her robe and skin. It was chilly, but not unpleasant. With her current state, she might last longer than normal.

Better than to return inside and revisit the scene of her latest breakdown.

She bitterly sipped the tea as the memories of last night trickled in.

“ _I was a right mess. Bless Beth, she shouldn’t have to deal with that._ ” She thought morosely as she stared at the horizon.

She looked over her shoulder, towards the sea hidden by the neighboring houses.

A lost seagull crowed overhead.

The door slid open.

“El, what’re you doing out here? It’s freezing!” chided Beth.

Ellie looked over.

“Sorry, needed to clear my head. Sides, it’s nice.”

“For a penguin, sure.” Beth shivered as she sat next to her. “Alright?”

Ellie frowned and crooked her mouth. She stared into her teacup.

“That’s a no then?”

“Just thinking about last night.”

Beth nodded.

“Bit of a night, yeah?”

“I’m a mess.” Sighed Ellie. “A useless mess.”

“You’re _not_ useless, El.”

“You mean I _shouldn’t_ be.” Ellie frowned. “And I shouldn’t. I’m a DS for god’s sake. I can _do_ more.”

Beth’s lips thinned.

“Thought you’re off the investigation though? Because of Joe?”

“Oh, _fuck_ Joe. I’m sick of sitting around.” Ellie groaned as she rose to her feet.

  
Beth watched with growing concern as Ellie threw her teacup aside. She cracked her knuckles, then her neck.

“El…”

“I’m done waiting, Beth. This has gone _long_ enough.” Ellie nodded. “Imma save my sod of a boss.”

“Ellie, he’s in the middle of the ocean – “

“Never stopped me before.”

“’Never stopped’…El, _what the hell_ – “

But Beth never finished her thought.

  
Because at that minute, Ellie turned on her heel, eyed the horizon.

And _ran_.

She bolted, leapt over fences and hedges, vaulted over cars and sped down the tarmac. Dogs barked and howled as the blur that was Miller ran past.

She passed a van. It flipped to its side from the shockwave.

“Oi! I just got that painted!” snipped Nigel, wearing his new ‘Not Joe Miller’ shirt.

Ellie ignored him. She was, after all, a woman on a mission.

She continued, uninterrupted, unhindered, towards Broadchurch’s city center.

Back at the Miller residence, Beth, stunned beyond words, stumbled back into the house.

“Mumma? Mumma?” called Fred as he skipped into the kitchen.

Tom shuffled after his brother, still bleary with sleep.

“Mornin’.” He mumbled as he looked about. “Where’s Mum?”

Beth blinked and tried, much as she could, to gather her senses.

“Uh,” She started. “she, um, went out.”

Tom paused and frowned.

“Out?”

Beth nodded slowly.

“Yeah. Out. Might be back late.”

“No pancakes then?” asked Fred with a pout.

Beth’s head cleared and she, with a sigh, plucked Fred up into her arms.

“We’ll have pancakes. Think I need ‘em. This morning’s been too weird already.”

  
\--

Back in Broadchurch’s center, the roads were a mess.

Scorched into the asphalt, still smoldering and some on fire, were two lines exactly shoulder-width apart.

The lines drove towards the waterfront.

PC Bob, police tape in hand, eyed the scene with a deflated expression.

“How’m I supposed to section off all main street…” He moaned.

  
DCI Jenkinson chewed on a toothpick as she inspected the road burns.

“All this from one person…” She muttered as she adjusted her aviators.

“Told ya Miller was a fiery one.” Noted Dirty Brian.

“Hmph,” DCI Jenkinson acknowledged as she stood. “A trail of fire and burnt asphalt. All from DS Miller, reasons unknown but most likely related to Hardy’s abduction case.”

“Right…”

DCI Jenkinson nodded.

“Suppose we can conclude, then, that our investigation is about to…

  
She pushed the aviators up the bridge of her nose.

“…go up in flames.”

A scream filled the air.

The bystanders turn in unison towards the source of the sound.

Mark Latimer, face twisted in a pained expression, limped over to the detectives.

“That you, Mark?” asked Brian.

“Yeah, damn parking meter ate my change. Kicked it to fix it, all I got is a stubbed toe and a stolen boat.” He grumbled.

“I’m sorry, a stolen boat?” asked DCI Jenkinson.

Mark turned pink as he nodded.

“Yeah, decided to finally get my sorry ass back in town. Turns out Beth wants nothing to do with me. Guess leaving her and the girls for three years was a poor choice.”

“ _No_.”

“So, I bought a boat instead. Was about to take it out when Ellie shoves me and takes it for herself.”

“DS Miller stole your boat??” asked Brian.

“Yup.”

“And she’s with it now?”

“Last I saw her she was rowing out to sea.” Mark shrugged.

“But why – “

The sound of rapidly splashing water filled the air.

DCI Jenkinson, Brian, and Mark craned over to gaze at the seaside.

The sea, gray-blue and normally broken by only the usual tides, was carved in twain by a single line of kicked up sea foam.

  
The progenitor of the foam: a single, wooden dingy, operated by paddle.

At the helm, one very furious, very determined, DS Ellie Miller.

  
She was kindly estimated to be rowing at near one-hundred kilometers per hour.

Give or take a meter.

  
\--

For any man, the sea could be a lonely place.

  
Endless ocean with no land in sight, rarely a boat’s passing, offered little in the realm of company.

  
Mackie wished that applied to him right now.

  
A scraping sound behind him drew his attention.

He stopped as he turned.

“Lad…what are you doing?” He asked with a look.

  
Joe’s pupils flitted to the ungainly object in his grasp, then back to Mackie.

“Getting this harpoon gun.” He answered.

“Aye.” Mackie nodded. “And _why_ are you getting a harpoon gun?”

Joe’s lips thinned.

“Hardy’s being difficult. _Again_. Trying to get him to talk.”

“Lad, pretty sure if you shoot him with _that_ there won’t be much left of him to talk.” Mackie levelled.

“Fair point.”

The two stared off.

  
“So…you’re going to put it back then?”

Joe hesitated.

“Joe…”

“I mean, I could just _glance_ him with it – “

“Jesus Joe, can’t you just punch him like a normal person?”

“Because I have issues, Mackie! Plenty of them! And this harpoon gun is the only solution!” Joe whined.

“Put it back, _now_!” Mackie scolded.

“Ugh, _fine_.” Joe groaned.

  
Joe began to tromp away when he stopped, his eyes trained on the horizon.

“Hey Mackie?”

“Aye lad?”

“What’s that thing storming towards us at eighty knots?”

Mackie frowned, turned on his heel, then froze.

“Wait, that looks like a – “

“YOU FUCKING MESSED UP, BOYS.” Miller roared as she launched herself skywards.

Joe and Mackie went white as snow.

Miller landed, superhero style, on the deck. The boards rattled at her arrival.

“The hell?!” Joe sputtered. “El?!”

“ _That’s_ your ex-wife, lad??” Mackie stammered.

“Might be?” admitted Joe.

Mackie blinked.

“Quite a catch.” He mumbled in awe.

  
Miller’s death glare flipped to Mackie.

“You stole my Hardy?” She hissed.

Mackie’s face grayed as he approached cautiously, hands out in a placating gesture.

“Now lass, no need to get hysterical – “

  
An uppercut to his jaw ended the conversation.

It’s said that if you wait for the turn of the seasons, when winter fades to spring, you can see Jupiter in the night sky.

And, if you have a telescope, you might even see the various moons and meteors that orbit the planet.

As well as, maybe, one very confused, very freaked out sea captain tumbling through a field of asteroids.

  
With Joe’s henchman out the way, Ellie’s wrath switched to Joe.

Joe, for his part, was glad he hadn’t drunk any fluids that day.

“H-Hey El. Long time no see…” He started with a wobbly smile.

Ellie puffed steam through her nostrils.

“ _Alright_ , you seem mad. Maybe I’ll come back later – “

Joe, the coward he was, never made his last escape.

Blink and you miss it, Ellie was across the deck and had Joe lifted over her head.

“E-El! Wait! I’m sorry!” cried Joe.

“You think an ‘I’m sorry’ will fix all this?!” She hissed.

“…might’ve?”

Ellie paused, sighed, then shook her head.

“Where’s Hardy?”

Joe gestured towards a far door.

“Right.” Ellie nodded.

“Does this mean you’ll let me go?” asked Joe hopefully.

Ellie paused, then slowly blinked.

“…Hey Joe?”

“Yeah?”

“Ever wondered what’s at the bottom of the ocean?”

  
And she chucked the sick child murderer through the deck of the boat with a loud, proud, “YEET!”

  
Splinters and wood dust filled the air. The satisfying _crunch_ of wood and metal the only sound to answer Ellie’s modern war call.

(What’s left of Joe? Best not to describe, the ‘graphic depictions of violence’ tag only goes so far after all.)

With both the pathetic excuses for humans disposed of, Ellie dusted off her hands.

Step one was complete, now for step two.

She found her way to the door and descended into the accommodation.

  
\--

“I was thinking, sir.”

  
Hardy peeked one eye open and distantly met her gaze.

“About?”

“I’m glad that I can help you, Alec.” Said Not-Ellie as she ran her fingers through his hair. “But you do realize that this is a sign of serious emotional trauma, right? Hallucinating isn’t a good thing.”

“Ach, I don’t want to think about that, Ellie.”

“Just saying, you’ll need a therapist when you get back on land.”

“I survived Sandbrook and the Latimer trial just fine on my own.”

“You nearly died. _Twice_.”

“I’m still alive.”

“You have serious issues communicating your feelings without rejection.”

“Thanks for reminding me, Miller.”

“ _And_ , you have those blasted nightmares. Still.” Not-Ellie said pointedly. “Had them for _seven years_ , that’s nearly a decade.”

“I should buy a cake and celebrate then?”

“ _Hardy_.”

The vision frowned at him frustratedly.

“How many times do I need to say it? You can _take care of yourself_. This pitying thing gets you nowhere.”

“M’not _pitying_ myself.”

“Short some fringe bangs, you could write one of those emo songs Tom listens to.”

“Shut up, Miller.” He frowned back.

“I’m saying there’s a limit, sir.” Not-Ellie sighed. “There’s only so much brooding by cliffsides the BAFTAs can handle before they decide you’re moping. And I know you’re gaming for one.”

“Just thought it’d be nice to have matching awards.” Hardy noted wistfully.

  
At that, the door to the accommodation was flung off its hinges. It flew through the air, slammed against the glass of the shower.

“ _Christ_ – “Hardy hissed.

“Oop, okay think I’m going to dip.” Not-Ellie winced as she popped out of existence.

The real Ellie stood in the light, panting and looking rather enraged.

Hardy was stuck between being terrified and grateful.

“M-Miller…” He finally eked out.

The rage faded and Ellie looked, simply, relieved.

“Sir.” She exhaled.

Rushing to the shower door, she fiddled with the chain and lock.

“God lord, you’re still _alive_.” She said with a shuddered smile.

“Promised ya. No dying on you.” Hardy smirked weakly.

Ellie smiled warmly.

“Look at you, you do care.” She chuckled.

“Course I do, Ellie.”

  
Ellie stopped; her eyes flitted to him.

The lock in her hand shattered.

“Jesus, El…” Hardy gaped.

“Don’t start with that.” She said quickly.

Hardy blinked.

“O-Oh, right, sorry. Shit, yeah that was a bit soppy – “

“No, no, just hold on a second. Door’s still locked.”

“What - ?”

  
With the chain thrown to the floor, Ellie near ripped the shower door off as well.

She strode to Hardy, scooped him carefully off the floor.

And planted a huge kiss against his lips.

Hardy’s mind was hardly in a state one would call intact. The week on the boat had done its damage and it was not in great shape prior.

But throughout all of it, hallucinations aside, it hadn’t broken.

Then came Ellie Miller and her otherworldly _kiss_.

  
A giant “404: HARDY NOT FOUND” error blared in his mind and his only solution was to return the kiss, lovely and sweet.

When it broke, both were left panting.

“Oh god, I missed you.” She sighed.

“Missed you too.” Hardy laughed as he winced.

“Bloody hell, what did they _do_ to you…” hissed Ellie.

“Way too much. Excessive even.” Hardy joked with a cough.

“Well that won’t do. Let’s get you home.” Ellie said as she bridal carried him out of the bathroom.

  
The two returned to the deck, only to find the ocean far closer than it had been minutes ago.

The boat listed bow side and Ellie quickly remembered why.

“Ah, right, might’ve punched a hole in the boat.” She winced.

Hardy blinked, unsure what to make of, well, _everything_.

“Got an idea?” He asked absently.

“Mm, yeah, I can row us home I think.” Ellie noted.

Minutes later, Hardy was snuggly wrapped up in a blanket, resting at the bottom of Ellie’s stolen rowboat, as the vessel skipped along the gray-blue water.

Ellie sat at the back, oars moving at an inhuman speed, white foam trails left in their wake.

  
For a while, Hardy wondered if this was another hallucination. It had to be, no human could accomplish all that it seemed Ellie had, from rowing through the ocean to literally punching a hole in the ship.

But then he remembered that this was Ellie Miller he was talking about.

And decided it was all very real.

He also wasn’t sure which he felt more: terrified of Ellie, or absolutely certain that as soon as they reached shore and he saw a doctor and therapist, he’d pop the question because hell if she’d be one that got away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry
> 
> real chapter posts tomorrow


	17. Chapter 17

Mackie, to his understanding, wasn’t an idiot.

  
Even in his inebriated state, he’d had at least a faint idea of what he was getting into when he’d sprung the kidnapping idea on Joe. He knew that the process wouldn’t be pretty, he knew that Joe possibly wouldn’t be ready for the arduous task of pulling information from Hardy and, to be honest, he wasn’t initially sure either.

Chalk it up to those twenty years of repressed rage that made the task easier for Mackie, initially.

Didn’t hurt that Hardy was so difficult as well.

Really, Mackie told himself that he was ready for everything and anything, failure and success included.

  
It was easy enough to prepare when you had nothing left on land. If Hardy refused to speak and was killed, Mackie had accepted what this meant.

He was a man of the sea, after all. A lifetime of running, if on the water, didn’t faze him.

And if Joe succeeded and got what he needed, the restitution he deserved, then Mackie could say he did one thing right as well.

This, however.

  
This wasn’t quite either.

  
Mackie stood against the railing and stared out at the open sea. Clouds gathered in the distance, color a darker gray and slightly scattered.

“ _Mmm, storm a ‘Comin’._ ” He noted to himself.

A wind blew past and chilled his skin. He drew his arms close and reached down for his jumper.

His fingers met air and he remembered that he left his jumper at the kitchen table.

He nearly turned to head for the accommodation, but he stopped.

“ _Ah, right, Joe’s down there. Having another ‘chat’ with Hardy._ ” He thought grimly.

He sufficed by wrapping his arms around himself.

Part of the abduction, he’d already understood, would involve a level of “encouragement”, a bit of violence to pry the words from Hardy’s mouth.

He understood that to get ahead, a few fists would need to be thrown and some kicks added in for good measure. A good whack around the head, perhaps a dig of the boot.

He had no problems with that; in a weird way, it reminded him of his days fighting with his mates at the pub.

When Joe had mentioned Hardy’s fear of water, Mackie had also assumed and prepared himself for water’s inevitable usage, should Hardy prove to be as stubborn as Joe implied.

Granted, the sight of the usually rebellious Hardy turned into a broken, quivering mess was a mite disturbing, but he at least was ready for the possibility.

  
He hadn’t prepared for yesterday.

  
Mackie’s sleep was awful, broken with images of Hardy’s carved and lacerated chest, cruel words drawn in deep red that flared angrily.

He didn’t know why it bothered him; he barely had a sympathetic thought for their captive, the homewrecker he was.

But to know that all came from his _friend_ , Joe…

Mackie swallowed thickly and cleared his throat.

When he met Joe, he’d come from a season at sea. He remembered thinking he seemed fine, if not tense. He loosened up and became outright friendly and pleasant with a few drinks.

Then he spilled his story, tears and all, about how he came to be a guard at the shipyard. Mackie’s heart ached at his retelling and just how much it reminded him of himself.

And well, here they were. He was helping Joe get his peace, and the man who ruined his life was tied up below at his mercy.

He could rest easily now, couldn’t he?

  
...

_No, you can’t_.

Mackie stared and blinked at the open ocean.

_It bothers you, doesn’t it? Man like that, your_ friend _, inflict that cruelty on another person_.

“ _The man stole his wife, dragged his name through the mud, took him away from his family. He deserves nothing better than hell._ ” Thought Mackie.

_You could argue this is worse than hell._

“ _Shove it._ ”

_That needle was insidious. Cruel, creative. What kind of man thinks up something like that?_

“ _Joe is getting his restitution. Hardy is the one making this difficult_.”

_Sure, right, but what about after Hardy’s finished? Do you think Joe will just stop?_

_  
_Mackie paused.

  
_You aren’t sure. What’s stopping him from doing this to someone else? Or maybe,_ you _?_

“He just has a beef with Hardy.”

_He looked way too thrilled with the torture._

“Interrogation.”

_Paint it as you will, it’s still torture_.

Mackie snatched a bottle of beer from the cooler and took a swig.

_You might’ve created a_ monster _, Douglas Price. Just like you to ruin everything in sight. Maureen was smart to leave you._

“Ach, shut _up_.” Growled Mackie as he drank deeply.

The nagging voice in his mind went silent.

  
Mackie stared at the sea, but the sourness was left behind.

He stared at the barely touched beer and set it down.

He wasn’t sure he wanted more.

  
His trance was broken by the slam of the accommodation door.

Mackie spun around to see Joe storming up the steps looking none too happy.

His sleeves were rolled up and, even from Mackie’s distance, he could see spots of red that decorated his shirt and forearms.

“Alright, Joe?” asked Mackie.

Joe stopped and gave a ragged sigh.

“Alright.” He answered. “Just frustrated.”

“Still not talking?”

“I swear, the bastard would rather croak than talk.” Joe grumbled.

“Hang in there, bet he’ll crack soon.”

Joe snorted and shook his head.

“You believe in him more than I do.” He said.

“Best take a break, lad. Freshen’ up and try again later?” suggested Mackie.

Joe thought then nodded.

“Yeah, think I’ll do that. Are the fish biting?”

“Haven’t checked lad, but a storm is going. Could spook them.”

“Damnit.” Frowned Joe.

“Still, go test some bait.” Said Mackie. “Gonna get my jumper, there’s a nip in the air.”

Joe nodded and walked off to the bow.

Mackie had gone down with the intention of just grabbing his jumper and leaving.

But he hadn’t expected Joe to leave his “handiwork” around.

So, once he reached the end of the stairs, he froze.

  
“ _Christ, did he look that bad yesterday?_ ” thought Mackie grimly.

  
Joe had left Hardy chained to the collar and pole, his arms bound behind him and his one good leg bound as well.

Hardy hadn’t moved, not even given the slightest twitch of life, at the sound of Mackie’s footsteps. And Mackie could see why. Nearly every square inch of the detective was red and purple with ugly welts raised all around, including near the irritated words from yesterday. Hardy’s head hung low, even against the bite of the collar.

The air stunk of cleaning fluids, but if given only a glance, one wouldn’t guess it’d just been cleaned. The table and cabinets had traces of blood splatter, some hastily smeared by a dishrag left near the sink.

Atop one of the larger splatters was a belt, one Mackie recognized as belonging to Joe. Its golden buckle was stained crimson.

  
Mackie shuddered and carefully made his way to the table where his jumper sat, thankfully, unstained.

He pulled it over his head and hesitated as he passed by Hardy.

He still hadn’t acknowledged his presence.

Ice settled in Mackie’s stomach as he slowly approached. His hand reached out and slowly hovered near Hardy’s mouth.

Barely, just barely, he felt a puff of warm air.

“Lord, you’re still going.” He sighed. “Stubborn bastard, Joe was right.”

At the sound of his voice, Hardy finally responded.

He flinched away at the sight of Mackie’s hand. His head snapped upright.

Mackie couldn’t fight a wince at the sight of his split lip and the fresh bruising near his eyes.

Hardy panted, the best he could, but his breathing was labored and wheezy. He coughed and spat a lob of blood towards Mackie’s shoes.

Mackie recoiled and gritted his teeth, but the anger subsided once he looked again at Hardy.

“This can’t be worth it.” Noted Mackie quietly. “This stubbornness of yours. Seems to be doing you more harm than good.”

Hardy didn’t answer. He only stared.

“You keep this up, lad, and you’ll be food for the fishes. I’m not exaggerating either. Bet Joe wouldn’t ease up for you.” He noted with a slight frown.

Hardy still didn’t answer.

The menace vanished from Mackie’s gaze and he simply sighed with a headshake.

“Right, your funeral. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He said as he started to walk away.

  
He heard a cough, a sputter, from Hardy.

Then, a single word, hoarse and broken.

“Why.”

Mackie paused and turned on his heel.

“Pardon?”

Hardy braced himself and exhaled with a wheeze.

“D-Don’t…don’t understand why...why you’d help…help _Joe_ …” He gasped as he spat a lob of blood-mixed saliva.

Mackie locked up. There was a part of him that felt enraged, infuriated at Hardy. After everything he put Joe through, every pain he inflicted upon his friend, he had the gall to ask _why_? Mackie should’ve simply silenced him with a blow like he had days ago.

  
But he didn’t. He simply stopped and glared at the detective.

  
“Thought you’d figure it out by now, _detective_.” Mackie said as he forced a falsely sweet smile. “Men like you make me _sick_ , how you can tear apart families that easily. You understand how much pain you’ve put Joe through, and you’re still asking me _why_?”

“I-I know…know what you t-think of me…” Hardy managed. “…but I d-don’t understand… _Joe_ …”

“He told me what happened, I told you that. I wanted to help him out. I liked him.” Mackie said.

“H-He told you _everything_ …?”

“Aye.” Mackie nodded as he started off again. “Now I’d rest if I were you. Joe will be back in a few minutes I bet.”

As he started up the stairs, he heard Hardy speak again, his voice somehow even weaker.

“E-Even the hugs?”

  
That word, _hugs_ , made Mackie freeze.

“Hugs?” He repeated as he turned back around.

He nearly had to turn away again from the intensity of Hardy’s gaze.

“H-He told me, back then. Said he w-wanted something of h-his o…own.” Hardy said, his words broken by a cough. “Said h-h-he _loved_ …loved Danny.”

“The kid. The little boy you said he murdered?” asked Mackie.

Hardy forced a nod.

“S-Said they’d meet and…hug. T-The night Danny died; D-Danny wanted to stop the hugs. Joe…stopped him.”

“You’re lying.” Hissed Mackie.

Hardy only responded with a headshake.

Mackie chewed on his lip. He stormed back over to Hardy and nearly reached for the chain.

“You’re just saying this, aren’t you, to get off easy? How sick could you be to accuse Joe of something like _that_? Disgusting.” He snarled.

“N-Not…” Hardy started before he inhaled sharply. “I can p-prove it.”

“Can you.”

Hardy nodded shallowly.

“W-When Joe comes back, just…listen.” He said pleadingly.

“Uh-huh.” Mackie said. “And why the hell should I do anything for _you_?”

Hardy sucked in a ragged breath and exhaled with forceful coughs. He collected himself enough to look Mackie with the most threadbare version of his detective gaze.

“Because I saw your face. Y-Yesterday. Y-You’re _scared_. And maybe, m-mostly, scared of _Joe_. If he did this to me, w-what would he do to _you_ if you piss him off enough?”

Mackie’s face drained.

“Please, Mackie.”

Mackie blinked and regained his composure.

“And if you’re lying?” He threatened.

Hardy slowly closed his eyes.

“Then, d-do what you n-need to do. Get payback. I p-probably won’t survive this.” Hardy said softly.

Mackie’s apprehension loosened. He looked at Hardy with almost pity.

  
He said nothing more before he stalked out of the accommodation.

  
\--

Ellie’s head was filled with TV static as she stirred.

  
Oh, her stomach _ached_. She went through the song and dance; she vowed to never drink again, though the promise was empty.

She really didn’t want to move. If she could, she’d have stayed on the floor for the rest of the day, heck maybe the rest of the _week_.

It occurred to her then that she _was_ on the floor.

She frowned and looked around her. Something hard and plastic bit into her elbow.

She glanced down and spotted Freddie’s Red Power Ranger.

She picked it up and stared.

“ _Oh Christ, Freddie didn’t see me last night, did he?_ ” She thought anxiously.

Her gaze flitted to the side and met amber, still eyes.

The plush tiger stared at her, as if to say, “ _well good morning to you too._ ”

She ran a hand across her eyes as she groaned lowly.

She set the toy aside and, reluctantly, sat up.

  
Her stomach churned and she panicked for a moment in belief that whatever she ate yesterday would make a reappearance. Luckily, it remained settled for now.

It was then that she noticed the other adult-sized form snoozing on her couch.

She blinked and realized it was Beth. She was curled up in a messy ball, blankets strewn across her and half-draped on the floor. Her hair was a mess of tangled locks.

At first, Ellie was confused at Beth’s presence. When had she stopped by? And why was she asleep on her couch.

Last night’s events started to trickle in. Details were fuzzy, but Ellie had the gist.

She groaned and near fell back against the floor.

“ _I must’ve_ really _drunk a lot last night._ ” She thought muzzily. “ _I’m going to owe Beth_ big time.”

She leaned against the armchair sleepily. The textured surface felt soothing and relaxingly real amidst the hangover haze in her brain. She smacked her lips and grimaced at the dry and sour taste.

She really needed a cup of water.

  
She got up and dragged herself to the kitchen. She filled up a cup with tap water and sipped it carefully.

She sighed at the cool sensation and the cleansing taste. It cut through the fog like a knife; exactly what she needed.

As she settled against the kitchen counter, she glanced at the oven’s LED display: it was barely past seven.

“ _Boys won’t be up for another two hours._ ” She thought.

She looked towards the windows. The sun’s orange beams were beginning to warm the drapes and cut through last night’s frost.

“ _Might be nice, just sit and watch the morning. Haven’t done that in…_ ” Ellie thought as she stopped. “ _…a long time._ ”

She forced away the _who_ that brought her tea on those days.

The glass door slid aside as she stepped onto the deck. The ground was damp with morning dew, yet to be absorbed by the sun’s light. The air was crisp and cool.

She found a less damp spot to sit on and she curled her knees to her chest. She sipped on her water and stared at the horizon.

The sky was blue, still tinted with pinks from the sunrise. It was lovely in a way that she knew she should savor the moment. The coming winter would make these mornings less common.

Though also, she should savor this because, for the first time since Hardy disappeared, it was peaceful.

Her smile wavered.

More memories of last night appeared, the words she’d confessed to Beth, all those forbidden thoughts, some maybe _she_ wasn’t even fully aware of (or was, the wine made it all fuzzy).

She swallowed dryly and stared at her half-drained cup.

Would Beth confront her about what she said? About Hardy?

Ellie wasn’t sure she was ready to talk, _again_ , about all that.

  
Especially not sober, and especially not with the investigation still open.

  
She took another, grimmer, sip.

The door behind her slid open again.

She looked over her shoulder and met gazes with Beth.

“Surprised you’re up.” Beth noted. “This early I mean.”

“Just kinda _woke_ , you know?” shrugged Ellie.

“Sure, did that a lot when Lizzie was born.” Beth said as she plopped herself next to her.

She held a cup of tea.

“Oh, sorry, I should’ve asked if you wanted one.” Grimaced Beth.

“Ah, it’s alright. I’ll stick to water.” Ellie said.

“Smart of you.”

“Smarter than I was last night.” Mumbled Ellie as she sipped.

She set her cup aside.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that. I was a handful I bet.”

“No worse than I expected.” Beth admitted.

“Don’t know if I should be offended by that.”

Beth smirked.

“Aw El, we’ve gone drinking before. I’ve seen you drunk.”

“You saw ‘Fun Drunk Ellie’. I don’t know what the hell last night was.” Said Ellie somberly with a headshake.

“An El who needed a friend.” Noted Beth as she sipped her tea.

Ellie’s gaze lowered to the ground.

“Right scared the boys, didn’t I?” She asked softly.

Beth’s smile faded.

“Might have, a bit.” She said.

“ _Christ_ ,” groaned Ellie as she buried her face in her hands. “what kind of mum am I? Right disaster I am, can’t hold it together.”

“What, you expect yourself to be a Super Mum right now? Have to be realistic, El.” Beth rolled her eyes.

When she spotted the slightly miffed, slightly hurt expression in Ellie’s eyes, she shifted tactics.

“I mean…El, look,” Beth sighed. “you remember what I was like? When Danny…passed, I was barely functioning. Couldn’t think, couldn’t do, could barely _be_ Beth Latimer, much less Beth Latimer, mother.”

She sipped her tea.

“Don’t think anyone blames you for struggling right now.”

  
“It’s all I got to do though.” Ellie said softly. “Not like I can do anything else.”

“And you’re doing all you _can_ , El.” Beth reminded her gently.

Ellie paused, then chuckled with a weak smile.

“Look at you, sounding so wise. What happened to the Beth I knew?”

“Oi! Cheeky!” Beth said with a playful punch to her shoulder.

Ellie chuckled, which evolved into laughter, which came with fresh tears.

“I’m alright.” Said Ellie as Beth reached for a tissue.

Beth watched as her friend wiped her tears.

“It’ll be alright, eventually.” She assured her. “Til then, we could, I don’t know, _not_ isolate? _Not_ pretend it’s us alone versus the world? Shitty to do things like this alone, I _know_ , so maybe lean on me for a little?”

Ellie thought a moment, then nodded, slowly.

“Think I’d like that.” She said. “Like how things used to be.”

“As close as we can get.” Beth said sadly.

Ellie smiled, a true smile, at her friend.

“Then first order of business: breakfast. I keep burning it.”

“Right, you’re sous chef then.” Laughed Beth.

  
\--

Hardy only lifted his head when he heard footsteps.

  
He was greeted by the presence of Joe, who looked far more relaxed than earlier. He still wore the blood-stained shirt.

Wordlessly he crossed over to the table and plucked the stained belt off it. He stretched it and gave a test crack against the wooden surface.

Hardy couldn’t suppress his shudder.

Joe’s attention snapped to Hardy. He slapped the buckle against his open palm.

“Hanging in there still?” He asked casually.

He shook his head.

“God, stubborn as ever. Won’t be much left of you before you croak.” He said. “Right,”

He cracked the belt again, this time near Hardy’s feet.

Hardy recoiled.

“let’s have another go.” Joe growled.

“D-Did you ever figure it out.” Hardy meted out.

Joe paused; the belt hovered mere inches from Hardy’s torso.

“Figure out. What?” Joe asked dangerously.

Hardy swallowed thickly.

“Your feelings. For Danny. Y-You said that you didn’t k-know why, you just _knew_.” He managed.

Joe chewed on those words and paced. The belt slapped methodically against his palm.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do – “

A crack of the belt silenced Hardy’s words. He cried out; a long, red welt crossed his right shoulder.

Joe gritted his teeth and surged close to his face. He shook the buckle warningly close to Hardy’s face.

“No, I _don’t_ , because however _you_ understand what happened is a sick, twisted joke just to make me a bigger monster. But I _know_ your lies, and I’m ending them. _Now_.”

Hardy sucked in a breath and raggedly exhaled.

“I-It’s not…l-lies. You said, you weren’t sure _how_ , but you _loved_ him – “

“And that’s wrong?!” said Joe, voice high-pitched, as he yanked on the collar’s chain.

Hardy gagged and slacked at Joe’s grip.

“You, _you_ are making what we were so much _sicker_ than reality. I’m _not_ that, I didn’t hurt him – “

“I-It wasn’t appropriate, Joe. You _knew_ that…” choked Hardy.

“Shut up.” Joe hissed as he released his hold and stepped back.

“Danny knew. He _knew_ w-what you were doing. He wanted to tell Mark.”

“ _Shut up_.” Joe spat.

The belt slapped hard against Hardy’s midsection, atop old bruising. Hardy gasped in shock but continued.

“What you were doing, it was _wrong_. You knew t-that, why kill him otherwise – “

“SHUT UP!” shouted Joe as he laid into Hardy.

Strike after strike, blow after blow, belt and buckle snapped and scraped at Hardy’s already abused body. It took everything in him not to break down weeping.

“You keep making me into something I’m not! _I’m not a predator!_ You sick freak! Is that it? You’re getting off on this? Accusing me, calling me a pervert? They were _hugs_ , and that’s it! NOTHING. MORE.” Joe snarled.

The last two words were punctuated by the harshest blows.

Joe continued to lay into Hardy until he finally sagged, energy spent. He panted and leaned against the table for support.

Hardy laid still against the pole, not a sound, barely moving. Blood dripped from his lip and nose.

Joe wiped sweat and blood from his brow.

“Maybe now you’ll finally _shut up_.” He spat.

“ _Joe_.”

At the voice, Joe stiffened. His demeanor changed, all power and dominance sucked away.

Hardy made himself, despite his pain, lift his head enough to see.

And he saw the look in Joe’s eyes: fear.

Joe snapped around to meet his friend’s eyes.

Mackie stood in the doorway of the accommodation, his face gray and pale.

“M-Mackie – “Joe started. “– you were there? W-Whole time?”

Mackie gave a curt nod.

Joe swallowed dryly and the wheels spinning in his head were almost visible.

Hardy knew that look, that posture, the one of a trapped animal.

“I-I…” started Joe. His eyes were watering.

“Hugs.” Mackie said quietly, dangerously, as he stepped forward.

  
Joe stepped back.

“You and the boy,” Mackie continued. “were meeting to _hug_. Alone.”

“I-It’s not – “Joe stammered.

“Not what? _Sick_?” Mackie spat.

“H-He’s lying – “

“You said it first, Joe!” Mackie shouted.

The man looked hurt, betrayed. His eyes glistened but his lips were curled into a growl.

“That little boy; were you…did you…” Mackie started.

“It wasn’t like that!” Joe said and he immediately regretted those words.

“Then what?! What is it, Joe?! How else should I understand you ‘loving’ the boy and meeting for ‘hugs’?!” Mackie snarled.

Joe’s pupils shrunk to pinpricks. He sweated thick droplets.

“I-I-I’m sorry.” He said weakly.

“ _Sorry_?!” Mackie barked. “You _lied_ to me, didn’t you Joe? You _murdered_ that boy to keep your filthy secret!”

“B-But Hardy! He and Ellie, t-the affair – “

“Do you think I fucking care?! You _murdered a boy_ , Joe!” Mackie yelled as he stalked closer. “A-And I! I helped y-you get revenge on that…that detective!”

Mackie’s hands flew to his hair and pulled as he laughed sickly.

“I helped a filthy _paedophile_ get revenge! I – _fuck_!” Mackie spat as he turned green.

“Mackie?” said Joe, voice tiny and quiet.

  
Mackie spun and stared daggers at Joe.

Joe recoiled fearfully.

“Please,” He quivered. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Yeah, _bullshit_.” Snarled Mackie.

  
And then Mackie _leapt_ at Joe.

Joe shrieked as the larger man barreled into him. He was shoved, harshly, to the ground, his face ground into the carpet.

“Mackie! Please! I’m sorry!”

“Fucking shut your mouth!” hissed Mackie as he threw a punch.

It connected with a _crack_ against Joe’s head and the man slacked.

He groaned and laid weakly on the ground.

“Pathetic.” Mackie growled.

He grabbed Joe by the collar and tugged him along, away from Hardy and up onto the deck.

He laid Joe on the deck like a caught fish and continued his beating. Kicks connected with Joe’s ribs and chest, a _crunch_ following one rather distinctly.

Joe wailed and thrashed against the deck.

“ _P-Please_ ,” Joe sobbed. “just throw me overboard. I k-know, I tricked you. You deserve…deserve to _kill me_ yourself.”

Mackie stopped and stared at his former friend. He gave a slow, short nod.

“Yeah, you would like that, wouldn’t you?” He said quietly as he crouched down.

He forced Joe to look at him.

“You’d like that because then _I’m_ the bad guy. A _murderer_ like you, but I’m not _you_. You’re going to _live_ , Joe, and you’re going to face justice like you should’ve last time. You won’t go with dignity; you’ll be delivered like a fucking _Christmas present_.”

Mackie stood and stomped away. When he returned, he held a bundle of rope, rope Joe recognized as the same one he intended to bind Hardy with days earlier.

  
Joe at least had the good sense not to struggle as he was bound.

  
He was left in a heap on the floor, partially in the shade in a small act of mercy.

Mackie then left him and vanished into the bridge.

When he stepped back out, onto the deck, Mackie lingered by the door.

He stared out at the sea, listened to the cries of seagulls and other seabirds.

Foam splashed onto the deck.

His hand balled into a fist.

He threw it behind him, and it _clanged_ against the metal.

“ _Damnit_ , _damnit_ , _DAMNIT_.” Mackie hissed.

He pressed his knuckles into his eyes.

“D-Damnit…” Mackie whispered as he shook his head.

He paused, stilled.

  
Then he lifted his head and took a deep breath.

  
He turned and returned down below.

When he reached the bottom of the steps, he froze as he looked at Hardy.

“Oh god…” Mackie muttered as he rushed to Hardy’s side.

From his vantage, it appeared that Hardy wasn’t breathing.

He lightly slapped Hardy’s cheek.

“Aye, lad, wake up. Wake up, you’ve been a stubborn ass this long, you can keep it up a bit longer.” Mackie urged.

  
Hardy did move, barely, just the smallest lift of his head. His eyes, distant and foggy, met Mackie’s.

“ _Shit_ …” mumbled Mackie.

Mackie glanced around and spotted the sink.

He left and returned with a glass of water.

“Here lad, drink.” He urged. “Come on lad, just a little sip.”

Hardy uttered a short groan and, slowly, accepted the cup, even as the water dribbled on his wounds.

“That’s it.” Mackie said softly. “Good.”

He pulled the cup away and set it aside.

Hardy’s head slacked again.

“Hey, _hey_ , don’t you die now. You’re going to be rescued.” Mackie said. “Sent out a distress call, turned on the GPS and AIS again. Real easy. Someone should come soon, made it urgent.”

Hardy didn’t move.

Mackie glanced away and bit his lip. He sighed and hung his head.

“I can’t make any of this up to you. You won’t believe me, but I’m not the worst man. I hope at least I can do _one thing_ right.” He said.

He looked up with glistening eyes again.

“Don’t know what the truth is with Joe’s wife and you, but the least I can do is make sure you get back home. Least you deserve.” He said.

He stood once again and started to walk away.

He regarded Hardy once more before he stepped up onto the deck.

Hardy couldn’t, and didn’t, see Mackie again once he left.

All he knew was he heard rustling and things moving on the deck, the clang of metal and the rub of ropes.

He thought, maybe, he saw a length of rope be pulled along the wood.

He heard something metallic creak.

He heard a loud _splash_.

  
Then, nothing. Just the sounds of ocean.

  
He was left alone, strapped to the pole. His body quivered as he awaited the return of Joe, unsure if Mackie truly handled him or if he was beaten but pissed off somewhere above.

Minutes passed.

Nothing.

Not a sound, not a peep.

It was like Hardy was on a desert island.

It was starting to get hard to stay awake. Hardy’s breaths were ragged and near gasps. The metal chewed at his carved back.

The silence was miserable; he just wanted an answer, the sign of rescue Mackie promised.

_Mackie_ promised; was it possible the man had left him to waste away? A slow, miserable death from dehydration and starvation?

Hardy bit hard on his lip to stop his tears.

But then he remembered he was alone, if Joe truly was handled, and it looked as such.

He let a few slip past.

  
There was a figure in the doorway.

They approached, slowly, carefully, cautiously. Even through Hardy’s fading vision, he could tell it was her.

Ellie…or Not-Ellie…one of the Ellies stopped and looked over the sight that was Hardy. Her arms were crossed over her chest. The expression on her face was worn, mournful, but still warm.

Strangely, she wasn’t dressed in her typical orange coat and sensible slacks. She wore a pale blue, terrycloth robe over t-shirt and sweatpants. Even her hair was loose and draped over her shoulders.

She was a sight that Hardy only dared to imagine, yet there she was.

“E-Ellie.” He hoarsely croaked, his own voice foreign to him.

“Afternoon, sir.” Not-Ellie greeted with a sad smile. “You look a right mess.”

Hardy tried to laugh, but the noise was closer to a strangled squeak.

Not-Ellie’s gaze softened further. She drew close and her hand cupped his cheek.

He leaned into the touch, like a plant towards sunlight.

Her other hand worked deftly with the buckle of his collar. It fell off his neck and she gently rubbed the marks it left behind, purple and deep.

She stepped in to simultaneously wrap her arms around Hardy and work at his restraints. They fell away like soaked newspaper. His ankle restraints reacted the same to her touch.

Suddenly free, Hardy slumped forward. Not-Ellie was there to catch him, her hands cautious to avoid his many bruises and wounds.

His shaking arm snaked up her back, and his hand clasped at her shoulder. He buried his face into the crook of her neck as she held him as close as she dared.

She smelled like laundry detergent and her shampoo, a generic store brand that no one would find particularly lovely, but Hardy decided outclassed the finest perfumes in the world.

Sobs rocked through him once more, her robe absorbing his tears.

“It’s alright, you’re safe now.” She hushed gently.

She hugged him and her free hand carded through his hair. It felt like heaven.

“Let’s get you home.”

She shifted her hold as she let one of Hardy’s arms sling across her shoulders. She still stood close to his side and supported him; her arm wrapped around his lower back.

Hardy tiredly leaned against her curled hair, his eyes fixed sleepily on the door as they walked away from the accommodation, away from his prison and torture chamber.

  
The two walked up the stairs and into the fresh air. The sun’s light was blinding, and Hardy squinted until he could finally see.

He blinked. There was no ocean.

There was no hardwood deck, no bridge, no hull.

There was a forest, a clearing, one that felt vaguely familiar to him.

Like one his family used to vacation to, before things went to hell.

The old cabin wasn’t there though; instead there was his little white house.

A vibrant brook split the land in two and a small wooden bridge crossed it.

Wildflowers grew everywhere; there wasn’t a bluebell in sight.

He stared in disbelief. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand, but the meadow and cottage remained.

His gaze slowly shifted to Not-Ellie, who watched him expectantly.

“Expected you to be more excited. You’re home.” She said.

“I don’t live here.” He said dumbly.

“Right, _we_ do.” Not-Ellie said encouragingly. “Come on, Tom and Daisy probably need help. Fred’s been a handful with you gone.

“D-Daiz…” Hardy whispered. His eyes widened when he realized that, yes, he was seeing his daughter again.

He nearly broke down crying again.

  
As he was led towards his little white house, Hardy’s mind reeled.

He knew he should question this. It was too impossible, too perfect.

There was a catch, there was _always_ a catch.

He hadn’t been a detective as long as he had to not assume there was a catch.

His eyes fell back to Not-Ellie.

Her hand gently held his.

And he suddenly didn’t care.

  
The door to the house swung open on its own. He could hear Freddie’s squeals of joy and the crash of plastic cars. He heard Tom yell at his brother, and Daisy shout over both boys.

It was a cacophony of chaos inside.

But how it felt like home.

  
Not-Ellie gave his hand a squeeze and he let himself be led inside.

  
\--

_“DCI Jenkinson speaking.”_

_“This is Captain Marcus Leighton of the HMS Jubilee. I reported a distress call received from a recreational vessel and was told to report it to you too.”_

_“Recreational ves – oh my god, did you find him? DI Alec Hardy?”_

_“We’ve rescued two individuals, mam. Both tied up, both injured but one way worse than the other. Not sure if he’s alive, to be honest.”_

_“_ Shit – _have you radioed for a Medevac?”_

_“Yes mam, just did. Did so for both. Should be airlifted to St. George’s right away.”_

_“Thank you,_ thank you _. I’ll alert the leads on the case. I’ll note your name and association; you’ll most likely be pulled in for questions.”_

_“Of course, mam.”_

_“And…thank you. Again.”_

_“Long case?”_

_“You have no idea.”_


	18. Chapter 18

There were three things on Ellie’s mind.

  
One, that she unfortunately owed Lucy _big time_ for agreeing to watch over the boys, especially on such short notice. She knew her sister would cash in the favor eventually, and Ellie would hate every moment of it.

  
Two, that three hours never felt so long of a drive.

  
Three, that she was infuriated with the hospital, who’d kept her from visiting Hardy for three days.

  
Logically, Ellie understood. Hardy’s immediate family was priority and they’d be alerted first. That meant Tess and Daisy, and she could only hope both were coping with however Hardy was like when they saw him.

She also figured that, given the long amount of time that Hardy was kidnapped, that it’d take a week just to stabilize him. Visitors would be the last thing he needed, even days in.

Still, she was unhappy at the wait, but tried to be thankful that she’d be seeing him _at all_. That he’d survived the first twenty-four hours and more.

  
Beth had accompanied her and handled the driving. The car radio quietly played some generic soft rock.

Rain splattered the windshield.

Neither spoke much. It felt somewhat unneeded, and both their minds were fixated on the same topic.

Ellie occupied herself with watching the passing fields and towns. As much as she might’ve needed a nap, she couldn’t bring herself to sleep.

The weird mix of anticipation, dread, relief, and anger kept her awake.

  
“There it is.” Beth said after what felt like an eternity.

She flicked the blinker and Ellie looked up.

The red brick building that was St. George’s loomed overhead, a monolith that only compounded her anxiety over what was inside.

By some miracle, Beth found parking quickly and none too far from the entrance. The two walked in, gave their names, and were quickly directed to the ICU.

  
They wound past endless rooms where doctors and nurses flitted in and out, machinery beeped, and the intercom spat out instructions that Ellie vaguely understood. That sanitary smell punctuated every inch of the building and churned her stomach.

They turned a corner and were greeted by a separate section of the ICU, one with its own reception desk. Standing there was Daisy with a brunette woman Ellie assumed was Tess.

She’d never met Tess before and, while everything Daisy had told her hadn’t given her the most positive perception of the DS, she still hoped it’d be under better circumstances.

  
Tess looked over once Daisy tapped her shoulder. She looked absolutely drained, her hair barely contained by her hair tie and a pallid color on her face.

Still, she smiled, a weak smile.

“DS Ellie Miller?” She asked.

“Please, call me Ellie.” Ellie answered. “You must be DS Tess Henchard.”

“I am. Thank you for coming.” Tess said, all formality and clipped friendliness.

  
Daisy, for her part, had yet to speak.

Ellie immediately noticed how the girl held herself, stiff and uncomfortable, her eyes fixed on the floor.

“Daiz?” She asked softly.

Daisy’s eyes darted to meet Ellie’s gaze and Ellie’s heart broke.

The young girl, barely in her late teens, had eyes filled with so much _pain_.

“Ellie.” Daisy said, voice hoarse.

She let go of her mother’s hand and rushed over to Ellie. She pulled her into a tight, desperate hug.

Ellie, for her part, reciprocated, but far slower. She could feel Tess’s gaze upon her.

Beth cleared her throat.

“Um, hi, I’m Beth Latimer. Just with El for support.” She said as she offered her hand.

  
As Tess was occupied with Beth, Ellie turned her attention to Daisy.

The girl was silently crying, her tears staining Ellie’s shirt.

“Sorry.” She mumbled.

“Oh love, no need to apologize.” Ellie said softly.

“It’s awful.” Daisy continued. “Everything’s been awful. What that _monster_ did to Dad – “

Her eyes creased and there was nothing Daisy could do. She broke into another series of high-pitched sobs.

All Ellie could do was hold the girl close and try to reassure her.

“I’m sorry love, I wish you didn’t have to go through this.” Ellie said.

Daisy shook her head. Her shoulders shuddered as she inhaled.

“It’s too much…” She croaked.

“I know, love.” Ellie said as she gave her another squeeze.

Ellie only let go as Tess approached.

Daisy sniffed and quickly wiped her eyes.

“Daisy talked to me.” Started Tess, her arms wrapped around herself. “About you and Hardy.”

Ellie stiffened, wondering what that meant.

“I wanted to thank you for helping him watch over Daiz. You have two of your own, yeah?”

“Two boys, yeah.” Ellie nodded.

“That’s still a lot to take on. Amazing of you.” Tess smiled.

“Ah, it’s really no trouble. She’s great help, especially with Freddie.” Ellie waved off.

Daisy slowly returned to her mother’s side, but her gaze was still on Ellie.

Ellie didn’t miss the slight pain, the hurt in Tess’s gaze. She remembered Hardy mentioning that their relationship hadn’t fully mended; she supposed it wouldn’t improve _now_ , at least not with everything going on.

  
It only made her heart ache for Daisy more, and maybe even a little for Tess.

“I’ve talked with the nurses.” Tess continued. “I’ve gotten clearance for you to visit whenever you’d like. His partner and all, felt that would be a good idea.”

Ellie softened.

“I…” She started, before he gave a short nod. “…thank you.”

Tess gave a sad smile back. She looked at Beth apologetically.

“Oh, no worries for me. Just here for support.” Beth said with a headshake.

“It’d be no trouble – “

“Might be best, less visitors at a time.” Beth interrupted. “And, well, I don’t know DI Hardy as well.”

“Right.” Noted Tess.

“Mrs. Henchard?” asked a nurse, young and spritely despite the dark circles under her eyes.

Tess turned to the nurse, who gave a bright smile.

“Nurses have finished with the primary checks. Should be fine to see him now, still visiting hours.”

“Think,” Tess said as she looked at Ellie. “think Ellie would like to see him.”

Ellie, while anxious, also felt a stone drop in her stomach.

  
This was it, another round in the ring. Another visit to her boss’s hospital bed; she’s had far too many in her lifetime.

  
“Ah, of course, Mrs. – ?” asked the nurse.

“Miller. Ellie Miller.”

“Pleasure to meet you. If you follow me, I’ll show you to his room.” Said the nurse as she started off.

Ellie gave a worried look to Beth, who gestured for her to follow.

“I’ll be right here, if you need me. Best not piss off the hospital staff.” She said.

Ellie smirked weakly before she followed along.

The nurse led her past room after room, down the long hallway, before they slowed in front of a far room.

She somewhat abruptly stopped and turned to address Ellie. Her smile, bright and vibrant, took a graver turn.

“Mrs. Miller – “

“Please, just Ellie.”

“My apologies.” Noted the nurse. “Um, I felt it important to ask before you, you know, visited, how aware you are of Mr. Hardy’s condition and, um, the circumstances that led to his admittance to ICU.”

Ellie bit her lip.

“Know he was abducted, kept on a boat for over a week.” She said softly with a headshake. “Other than that, nothing else.”

The nurse gave her a sympathetic look.

“Right, alright.” She said quietly. “I wanted to make sure because, well, it might be a bit much to take in. Seeing him and all like, well, this.”

“Think I’ll be fine.” Ellie sighed. “Used to it.”

“Well, in case you need it, there’s a call button in the room. We usually reserve it for patient concerns but, well, I think usage for _your_ well-being is warranted too.” The nurse said sadly.

Ellie’s blood chilled, but she nodded.

“Take your time. Visitation has another hour.” Said the nurse as she pulled the door open.

  
Ellie walked into the room and the door was pulled shut behind her.

  
Across from her, deep in the room, lights darkened to allow rest, she saw his bed.

And she saw _Hardy_.

  
Ellie had visited Hardy at the hospital multiple times. She was used to, rather grimly used to, the sight of her boss in hospital garments, attached to multitudes of machines that whirred and hissed and displayed information she only scarcely understood thanks to Joe. She’d sat with him and hoped he choked on seedless grapes, met with him after his secret pacemaker surgery.

The idea of Hardy, the idea of him strapped in a hospital bed; Ellie thought she’d be numb to it after all this time.

  
So, shame boiled within her at how she _recoiled_.

Even from across the room, Ellie could see that Hardy was barely a shell of who she remembered. She thought it impossible, but he was somehow _thinner_ than the thin grouch he usually was. Any skin she could see was spotted red, purple, sickly yellows and blues.

The rest of his skin was obscured under thick gauzing and bandages that near mummified his entire torso. One leg was elevated and secured with a cast. The odd array of injuries prevented him from even resting properly on the bed; she could see that instead of on the mattress, he rested upon improvised stacks of pillows that couldn’t possibly be comfortable.

There were so many machines, tubes, and devices strapped to him, Ellie figured he was more machine than person.

Worst of all was the ventilator, Ellie identified the invasive set-up, the least pleasant configuration. The machine pumped in time with the rise and fall of Hardy’s chest.

  
There were two chairs at his side.

Ellie at first didn’t move for them.

A sickly, cowardly part of her urged her to run from the room, maybe to pretend that this _wasn’t_ reality. That it wasn’t Hardy hooked up to dozens of machines and IVs and other devices.

But she didn’t. She could give herself that.

She eventually moved closer.

Hardy, of course, didn’t react to her presence.

She wondered, grimly, how aware he was of _anything_ now.

As she drew close, the sight of him only worsened.

She was now close enough to notice the deep bruising and cuts around Hardy’s neck, now slick with antibiotic ointment and lightly dressed in gauze.

She noticed how deeply his eyes were sunk, the dark circles mixed with blackened skin that almost looked like he’d thrown soot in his face.

She noticed how raspy his breaths were, and the bandaging around his ribs.

She noticed, even through the thick gauze and bandaging, the depth of the wounds on his chest and stomach.

  
She shook so hard, she nearly tumbled into the chair.

Forced inhales and exhales were the only thing keeping Ellie from what she really wanted to do: scream, rage, curse as many expletives as humanly possible, then mount a one-woman riot to find and tear apart her excuse of an ex-husband.

The memory of Joe only worsened the situation.

The anger faded back to horror as Ellie took in Hardy.

_How could_ one _, even_ two _, people cause_ this _?_

Ellie swallowed. The silence was filled with beeping and pressured pumping.

It was torturous.

“Morning, sir.” She ventured; her hands clasped in her lap.

  
She watched Hardy lay there, breathing raggedly, eyes still shut.

“Um,” She said as her eyes flitted around the room. “g-glad to see you in one piece. W-Well, mostly…”

She gave the weakest chuckle that died instantly as she once again looked at Hardy.

“Sorry, that was awful.” She mumbled. “Should know better, huh? Thought _I_ was the people-person of the two of us.”

Her teeth worried her lip. She inhaled sharply and sighed.

“Tom and Fred say hi. Miss you lots. Well, Freddie said that, but I’m sure Tom misses you too.” She said. “I might’ve promised him pancakes with strawberries when you come home. Something to look forward to, right? Bloody picky but you love your pancakes.”

No reply.

Ellie’s encouraging half-smile faded away and that dark, nagging thought creased the side of her mind.

“…You will come home, right? Mean, you made it _this_ far. You survived Joe, you _must_ …damnit you have to…”

  
Hardy said nothing.

  
Ellie’s mouth creased into a stressed, thinned line. Her eyes glistened.

“Damnit, _damnit_ …” She hissed as she covered her mouth.

She shook her head furiously.

“Hardy, I swear, if you don’t _wake up_ …” She broke.

But the threat fell empty; she couldn’t finish it.

The tears finally rolled, and a choked sob escaped her. She shook her head and buried her face in her hands.

_Were you cryin’ for me, Miller? You really do care._

“With all due respect sir, fuck – “Ellie near responded.

  
She stopped herself.

It had felt real. Maybe he would’ve said that, maybe she’d _prefer_ to hear that over what she did have.

Her gaze blurry, she looked once more at Hardy.

His hand laid flat on the makeshift mattress, the wrist obscured by gauze.

His palm was open.

She sniffled.

Her hand started to move, but she hesitated.

Would it be right?

It’s possible that Hardy wouldn’t appreciate such a gesture.

They don’t do soppy after all.

  
“ _I know we don’t but might be a nice change_.”

  
Might be.

Ellie bit the bullet.

Carefully, she laid her hand in his.

And she hated how right it felt.

His hand was rough, toughened by years of police work. She figured hers was too, but you grow used to the feel of your own palms.

It was different feeling his.

She let her hand lay flat, not quite holding it but very much there.

She swallowed and looked down thoughtfully.

“Please, sir,” she said earnestly, openly. “please wake up. People still need you here. Daiz needs you. The boys need you.”

She felt his palm.

The last person was unsaid; she felt he knew.

  
Besides, he’d never let her live it down if he really _did_ hear her.

  
\--

She’d wanted to visit more.

  
There was part of her, perhaps the side that still clung to the idea that life could be like the films she grew up with, that felt compelled to throw caution to the wind.

Take leave, more than she already did. Find a cheap hotel room, or whatever constituted cheap in London, and spend her time at Hardy’s side, ensure that he wouldn’t slip away. Not now or at least not when she was away.

  
That first visit, however, was almost three weeks ago, and that fact sat terribly with her.

  
The commute to London was one limiting factor, however. Gas wasn’t cheap, especially on her income, and a six-hour roundtrip was much to ask of a single mother.

There was also her work.

DCI Jenkinson had apologized, said she’d give Ellie more time if she could, but sadly crime waits for no one and DI Flint and DS Parsons were directed towards Hardy’s case, mostly with preparing for the eventual trial.

DS Parsons did have some time, so at least she wasn’t expected to take on cases alone. She didn’t want to admit that he was pleasant to work with. In ways, he was much like her.

  
Sometimes she felt, though, _too much_ like her.

Too much like herself before Danny, before the murder, before everything that was _Joe_.

She hated it.

But beggars can’t be choosers.

Especially with as checked out as she was.

She of course gave her all, all her attention and drive towards all the cases even though they were mostly routine burglaries and vandalism incidents. She was Ellie Miller, after all, and that meant she wouldn’t let her personal life destroy her detective abilities. She is a professional.

But it didn’t mean she was a robot.

  
“Tea.” Said DS Parsons.

“Oh, thanks, but I just got a cup.” Ellie said.

“That the same one from an hour ago?” asked DS Parsons pointedly.

Ellie finally felt the coolness of the cup.

“Might be.” She acknowledged.

DS Parsons looked at her sympathetically.

“You know, think I could handle the rest of the case load. Nothing big, just vandalisms, if you want to go home – “

“Parsons, _no_. I’m fine.” Ellie snipped.

“You’re checked out, Ellie. Might be best if you went and rested, got a lot on your plate – “

“And so do you, and I think ensuring Joe rots in a cell is more important than _my_ shite, so let me help.” Interrupted Ellie.

DS Parsons’ lips thinned to a straight line. He labored before he sighed.

“Okay, right, thanks.” He noted. “You got a message, by the way.”

  
He walked off before Ellie could start to stew with guilt.

She sighed raggedly and picked up her mobile.

It was Daisy, her only pipeline for information on Hardy.

_With Dad. Not too much changed. Seems fine. Mum getting on my nerves._

Ellie smiled faintly. She tapped out a reply.

_Glad to hear 4 Hardy, not for mum. Sry lov, mums job can be to worry_

Daisy’s next message preceded her reply.

_Doc came in. Said Dad doing well. Want to stop ventilator._

Ellie absently hit the send button as she read the new message. Her eyes widened.

Hardy had been awake for a few days now, already fantastic progress. This was another leap.

_Doctors think he’s ready??_

A pause. Then, Daisy replied.

_Think so. Doc said so. He’ll be drugged up but breathing on own._

  
Another ping.

_Might be good time to visit, just saying._

_  
_Ellie stared at the message, then glanced up towards Jenkinson’s office.

She could see DS Parsons talking with her.

His words rolled through her mind.

She sighed.

Not like Jenkinson wasn’t expecting this.

  
She got up to request more time off.

  
\--

Ellie still waited a few days to visit, both to close one of the smaller cases and to secure a childminder for Fred.

  
However, she still came. A long three hours later and she was in London, at the entrance of St. George’s just like weeks prior.

Beth wasn’t with her, she was occupied with her own work, but Ellie felt confident.

There was no intubation. Less machines. Time had passed.

Hardy would look more, be more, like _Hardy_.

  
She made her way to the ICU and signed in with the nurse. She declined the offer for guidance to Hardy’s room; the directions had been burned into her memory.

The door was propped open when she arrived. She rapped on the door gently as she peeked in.

A male nurse turned and stood.

“Hi, I’m here for visiting hours?” She said.

“Ah, right. You must be Ellie Miller?” asked the nurse.

“That’d be me. Is he awake?” She asked.

“More or less.” Shrugged the nurse as he gestured to Hardy. “We’ve administered some painkillers to help him cope, but he’s cruising along, bit loopy though. He’s a fighter for sure.”

“Stubborn as always.” Said Ellie as she swung a plastic bag in her hand.

The nurse quirked an eyebrow at the bag of grapes but said nothing. He put away his tools and instruments as he removed his gloves.

“Just hit the call button if you need anything.” He said as he ushered himself out.

  
It was when the nurse left that Ellie finally realized that Hardy hadn’t said a thing.

She made her way over to the chairs sat by his side.

His eyes were barely open, but at least they were. His pupils fixed glazed at the ceiling.

As she sat, however, his gaze drifted towards her.

“Afternoon, Hardy.” She said as she sat.

He blinked slowly, too slowly to be natural. As he opened his mouth, there was a heaviness to his breathing.

“E – E…” He started, before he paused.

It seemed even _he_ noticed the rustiness in his voice. He swallowed, then tried again.

“Ellie.”

She flinched at her name.

“Always when things go to shite, huh sir?” said Ellie sadly.

Hardy looked a little confused, but the confusion passed as she lifted the plastic baggy.

“Brought grapes.” She said. “Seedless.”

His gaze slowly trailed to the baggie. He reached for the fruit, but his movements were slow, almost sluggish.

“Uh, here, sorry. Maybe I should – “Ellie stumbled as she fought between instinct and what made sense.

She plucked a grape and, hesitating, gestured towards Hardy’s mouth.

She bit into her lip and awaited some sort of disparaging comment or look; she already knew how ridiculous this all was, despite everything.

  
But, nothing.

Much to her surprise, Hardy assented with no more than a sleepy look.

“Right.” She mumbled as she fed him the grape.

He chewed slowly, and the rather easy acceptance of her help reeled on Ellie.

The painkillers and the ordeal he endured were the only things that made this all make sense.

“Er, want another?” she offered despite herself.

With a nod from Hardy, she fed him another grape.

“Tastes good.” He noted as the grape popped between his teeth.

“Should be, paid five pounds for those.” Ellie said with an eyeroll. “Hospitals, right?”

Hardy met her eyes and she quieted.

“Paid that much? For me?” He asked softly.

Well, shit. This was _not_ what Ellie was prepared for.

“Might’ve. It’s, uh, thing we do, right? You end up in a hospital bed, I bring you grapes. I hope you choke, and you point out that I always buy the seedless ones.” She said. “Force of habit on that, don’t get seeded grapes in case Freddie swallows them.”

Hardy seemed to be partly listening, partly not. His eyes fell to the grape bag.

She plucked another and he ate it.

“Surprised you haven’t said anything.” She mumbled quietly. “You hate it when I help you. Always winge.”

Hardy’s gaze flitted back to her in surprise.

“Why would I complain?” He asked genuinely. “I missed ya.”

Ellie froze and pink rose to her cheeks.

“I, uh – “She stammered before she swallowed, thickly. “– good to know. Soppy.”

She barked a laugh, to break the tension.

It bounced off Hardy’s earnest expression.

He blinked slowly, contently, almost like a cat. He gazed at her.

“Really did. Every day.” He continued. “Was thinking of you. Knew you wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t survive.”

Ellie’s weak smile faded, and she searched his face for anything that suggested a joke, a prank, or _something_ that she might’ve expected from Hardy.

But he was being so utterly, painfully honest.

It sat in her like an acidic stone.

  
His hand fell open.

“You were here. Before.” He added. “You held my hand.”

Ellie’s eyes shot wide.

“Um…” She stammered. “Uh, well, um, how…you were _unconscious_ …shit, I mean, I’m sorry…”

“It was real.” He explained drowsily. “Er, more…more _real_ , you know?”

“Think so.” Ellie lied as she pondered the level of painkillers he was on.

“Not like the…” He started before he petered off.

He scrunched his nose and frowned.

“Like the?” Ellie baited.

“Nah. Not now, Miller.” He waved off.

Well, at least that sounded like the Hardy she knew.

  
His scrunched expression faded, and that damned soft one returned.

“Your hand…s’different.” He started.

“How so?” asked Ellie. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.

“ _Tess_ …” He started as he lazily waved his good arm. “…her hand…s _’cold_. Always was. S’always stuffin’ her hands in mine cause she’s freezin’.”

He blinked slowly, sleepily.

“…and mine?” Ellie asked before she thought.

He sighed tiredly.

“Soft. Warm.” He noted. “Nice.”

“Ah.” Said Ellie.

“Liked it.”

“Glad.”

He slowly turned to meet Ellie’s eyes, his expression only interrupted by a short wince, no doubt from rolling atop one of his many injuries.

His eyes fell to her hand and, carefully, he reached and took her hand into his. His thumb ran across the top of her hand.

Ellie’s eyes shot wide.

“I – “she started.

She didn’t know how to respond.

He was on heavy painkillers; she didn’t need to be told that. She had no clue if even _Hardy_ knew what he was talking about, nor if he’d remember their conversation an hour later. Drugged Hardy might want her hand, but _real_ Hardy was another story.

But she also noted how nice it felt for his thumb to run against her hand, and she hated that.

She also hated the look in Hardy’s eyes, as sedated as it was.

Soft, open, affectionate.

  
So unlike Hardy and so unlike what Ellie had expected.

Took all this to bring it out.

“Thought I’d die on that boat.” Hardy noted. “Wasn’t sure I’d get ta tell you how much you mean to me.”

“Ah – “Ellie stammered. “– right. Thank you, sir.”

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, pace stilted.

“Ellie,” he started.

“…Yeah?” She cautiously prodded.

Hardy’s cheek rested against his pillow and he gazed at her sleepily.

“I love you.”

Those three words, three simple words, hit Ellie like a bullet.

It was like time had stopped.

She shook her head shallowly, quickly. She could feel herself start to fall apart.

She sharply inhaled and fought tears.

“Sir, you’re on painkillers. Pretty strong ones I bet.” She said. “Don’t think this is a good idea.”

Hardy looked a little hurt, a bit sad. He retracted his arm and looked as sober as he had that whole conversation.

“Right.” He said quietly. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t. It’s…” Ellie said with a small smile. “…it’s okay.”

“You gonna leave?” He asked.

“No, sir.” She said calmly. “But I’m gonna use the loo real quick.”

She began to stand before he answered.

“Okay.” He answered softly as Ellie strode off.

  
She barely made it to a stall before she broke down crying.

Every ounce of tension she’d held, every mixed emotion and drop of grief she had since Hardy had been rescued, poured out in shaking shoulders and streams of tears.

Sobs grew choked, sound died out, and her body trembled when she finally started to calm.

  
By the time she returned to Hardy’s room, he’d fallen asleep.

His chest rose and fell slowly.

She thought a moment, contemplated.

She entered just to remove the bag of grapes before she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh not sure if i like this chap but hopefully y'all enjoyed it next chapter might be a bit later bc i wanna make sure it's good n it needs more editing plus might post smthg else too as a break
> 
> take care of urselves and remember to wash ur hands!!!


	19. Chapter 19

“Dessert, El?”

  
She blinked. Whatever she had been lost in faded. The scene of the little café returned.

  
Beth and Maggie sat across from her. Their coffee cups were drained.

Hers remained untouched.

  
She shook her head.

“Oh, no I’m good. Thanks.”

“You alright?” asked Maggie. “You seem…out of it.”

“I am. Freddie’s been having nightmares last few days.” Answered Ellie. She smiled at Beth. “You know how it is.”

“Goodness do I.” Beth nodded.

Ellie nodded back.

“Just need more sleep, that’s all.”

“Coffee might’ve helped. Think it’s gone stone cold though.” Maggie gestured.

“Darn it. Happened a few times lately. Think I’ll get a new one.” Ellie frowned.

“Few times?” asked Beth.

“Yeah. With the tea. At work though, you know how busy it gets.”

“Thought you’d said it’s been quiet lately.”

“It _has_ , but…but, erm, paperwork. Reports. Bloody get into it and…and, well, you forget the tea.” Ellie responded; her lips thinned.

Beth stared, unconvinced, as Maggie flagged down a waiter.

“Can she get a new cup of coffee? Hers gone cold. And we’d like two cheesecakes.”

“Make it three.” Added Beth.

Ellie’s mouth opened.

“Oh, Beth, I didn’t – “

“On me. I really insist.”

Ellie’s mouth closed. The intensity of Beth’s stare, still fixed upon her, burned.

“Right then. Dessert for now, more sit-ups for later.” She sighed.

  
The waiter parted and Beth sat forward, her hands folded together.

“El, you can cut the shite. We’re your friends, you know that.”

“Shite? Wha – no, there’s no shite – “

“Sorry petal, but you’re lying. Badly.” Maggie agreed.

“Oi, don’t gang up on me.”

“We’ve both noticed, El. You’ve been out of it since last week, when you came home from London.”

Ellie’s teeth worried her lip.

“Something happened when you visited, that’s what I feel.” Beth noted. “Now, if you don’t want to share details that’s fine, but at least let us know that you’re _not_ fine. We can accept that. And I hate to push, but last time you were this upset I found you in a pile of bottles.”

Ellie winced.

“And I won’t let that happen again.”

Ellie laced her fingers together and glanced at the tablecloth.

She sighed.

“You’re right. I’ve been a bloody mess.” She admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. We just want to help if we can.” Said Maggie.

“Might. Not sure. Just feel all out of it.”

“What happened?” asked Beth.

Ellie sat back, arms folded. She stared, worn out, at the table’s leg.

“As you know, went and visited Hardy last week. He’s awake, on a boatload of sedatives and painkillers, but off the ventilator at least. Met with him, chatted.”

“Just chatted?”

Ellie nodded. A weakened smirk crossed her face.

“The _wanker_. He was soppy, _so_ soppy it might make you sick. Said how I kept him alive on the boat, that he wouldn’t die before he told me how much he appreciated me.”

Her gaze lowered, saddened.

“Said he loved me. Held my hand.”

  
Maggie’s eyes widened.

“Forward.”

“You’re telling me.” Snorted Ellie.

“Flattering at all?” prodded Beth.

Beth shrugged noncommittally.

“Sort of. I guess.”

“Just sort of?”

“What did you expect me to say, Beth? I was over the bloody moon?? He was drugged, for Christ-sake.”

“Well no, just thought…I don’t know, _you_ love him.”

“She what?!”

“Later, Maggie.” Hissed Beth.

“I-I do! I _do_.” Ellie answered.

The waiter slowed just enough to drop off the cheesecakes and a fresh cup of coffee before he sped back inside.

  
“He might’ve heard us talk.” Smirked Maggie.

Ellie grimly took a healthy forkful of cake.

“Sorry, El.” Beth said quietly. “I don’t know what I was thinking, _course_ that would be hard. Haven’t spoken to him in months, then _that’s_ the first thing out of his mouth – “

“That’s not the hard part!” Ellie answered around cheesecake. “He’s hopped up on a mountain of morphine, I have _no clue_ if he means a damn thing he says! He could, I don’t know, tell me he’s the king of Norway and it’d mean the same thing for all I bloody know! He might’ve well not said it! I almost _prefer_ he didn’t!”

“He could still mean it.” Suggested Maggie.

Ellie didn’t answer. She chewed furiously on her forkful.

“ _Do_ you want him to say it, El? Eventually? Without painkillers?” asked Beth.

“Yes! No! I don’t – _fuck_ , I can’t…” Ellie crumbled.

  
She scooped another big scoop of cheesecake.

  
“Easy there, petal.” Warned Maggie.

“I need the chocolate.”

“Not if you get sick – “

“Bloody hell, I can _handle_ a slice of cheesecake!”

“ _El_.” Beth said firmly.

Ellie stopped, mid chew, and stared at her friend.

Beth chewed on the inside of her cheek.

“I _remember_ ,” Beth started as she scooped some cheesecake. “first time someone asked me out. After Mark left.”

Ellie and Maggie both looked at her.

“Should’ve been flattering, but Christ, it was _terrifying_. Just…guess you get used to it; you know. Being alone. S’not great or anything, you _want_ someone with you again, but when they do show up – “

“No clue what to do.” Finished Maggie.

Beth sighed and nodded.

“You know, of course, but you don’t.” Beth said. “Least I didn’t.”

“What did you do?” asked Ellie.

“Tried a date with him. Didn’t work out, weren’t compatible.” Shrugged Beth. “But it made me think. You know, just about _love_. Work makes me do that too.”

“You’re a veritable expert at this point, I’d say.” Maggie noted.

Beth smiled.

“It was weird.” She continued. “I _know_ , or more I _knew_ , that it’d been, what, a year? Two? You think you should be alright, you’re ready, you _think_ you’re ready. And maybe you are, really, ready.”

Beth’s smile faded. She paused; her stare lingered distantly for a moment.

She took a bite of cheesecake.

“Doesn’t make it any easier when you finally _hear it_.” She said softly.

Ellie set her fork down as Beth swallowed.

“You know, after someone leaves, you’re on your own again. Possibly the first time in a long time. It’s hard enough, even harder if they hurt you first.” Beth continued wistfully. “You still _love_ them, despite every fact and every part of you that doesn’t want to. Maybe you love what they _were_ , but still, that part of you just doesn’t want to believe you, I don’t know, messed up. Loved someone who could hurt you that badly.”

“So, at the time, I see this in a few of my clients, you decide that _you_ did something wrong. Clearly. Why else would they hurt you? Maybe it works for a while. It gives you something you can _fix_ , because lord knows you won’t get a satisfying answer from them.”

“But it sits in you, eats at you. The story repeats and eventually, what was something to help you handle something so out of left field, something so painful, roots itself in you. You _believe_ it, that something you did, something you are, is so awful that it made you _deserve_ what they did to you. Deserve the fact that you’re hurt.”

Ellie’s hands clenched around her pant legs.

“And then, one day, someone new comes along. They’re kind, decent. They say they love you. You know, logically, it’s fine. You deserve to be loved, that they most likely won’t hurt you the same way. But, you know, you’ve heard that other story for so long, it terrifies you. You want to be ready; you want to be loved, but you’re terrified that you’re still the same person that _caused_ your first partner to hurt you so badly. Because you still haven’t figured out _why_.”

  
Beth’s eyes glistened. She quickly wiped away a tear.

“That’s what I think, anyways.”

  
Ellie bit her lip.

“Say you hit the nail on the head there, Beth.” She said softly.

“Ah, thanks.” Beth sniffed.

  
The trio stared at their desserts, in various states.

“Think I’ve lost my appetite.” Admitted Beth.

“Same.”

“We’ll get takeaway boxes.” Noted Maggie.

The three paid the check and left, their desserts in tow.

As they left for their cars, Maggie stalled as someone rounded the corner.

“Joss? That you?” she asked.

“Maggie. I finished my consultation early.” Jocelyn said.

“The consultation in _Yorkshire_?”

“I encouraged the driver to speed a little.”

“I think you mean _intimidated_ , love.”

“I admit nothing of the sort.” Smirked Jocelyn.

The two joined hands and walked off together with a wave.

  
Ellie and Beth watched them leave.

“They seem happy.” Ellie noted.

“Yeah.”

Ellie looked over.

“Beth?”

“I’m alright. Let’s get you back.”

  
The two hopped in Beth’s car.

As Beth turned the key, she was pulled into a hug.

“What’s this for?” asked Beth.

“Because I didn’t give enough of these when you were going through that shit with Mark.” Said Ellie.

“Aw. I mean, that was a while ago.”

“Like you said, doesn’t make it any less painful.”

“No.” Beth admitted.

“And because you’re pulling a _me_ , and that’s not allowed.”

Beth chuckled.

“I shouldn’t fall apart though. I’m supposed to be helping _you_.”

“You’ve helped me plenty. We’re friends. If it’s my turn for a moment, that won’t kill either of us.”

“True.” Beth said as she returned the hug. “Thanks, El.”

“Course Beth.”

  
\--

As they parked in Ellie’s driveway, they almost didn’t notice the girl standing at the stoop.

  
Beth frowned and engaged the brake.

“Is that - ?” She started.

Ellie’s brow furrowed, then raised.

“Oh god, that’s Daisy.” She said softly.

Beth placed a hand on Ellie’s shoulder.

“Need me with you?” She offered.

Ellie thought, then shook her head.

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” Said Beth as she unlocked the door.

  
Ellie didn’t miss how Beth lingered in her driveway before driving off.

“Daisy?” She called.

Daisy spun around and stared, looking caught.

“H-Hi Ellie.” She said with a shaky smile.

“Love, I’m glad to see you, but what are you doing out here?” She asked. “I didn’t forget a visit, did I?”

“Oh, no, no I…I just was on the way.” Daisy said weakly.

Ellie scanned Daisy’s expression long enough for the girl to crumble.

“Or, more, I wanted to come by. So, I did.” She said.

“All by yourself?”

Daisy nodded.

“Sorry I didn’t call.” Mumbled the girl.

Ellie crossed her arms.

“Would you like to come in?” She asked quietly.

Daisy’s expression said it all.

  
The two walked in and Daisy settled herself at the familiar table.

“Sorry for the mess. Think Freddie was working on a card for your dad.” Ellie noted.

“S’alright.” Said Daisy as she eyed the glittery monstrosity. “The dinosaurs are a nice touch.”

“It’s the age.” Sighed Ellie fondly. “I swear, all the boy thinks about are dinosaurs and fruit snacks.”

Daisy chuckled as she accepted the cup of tea.

Ellie sat across from her. She passed the sugar bowl as she stirred her own tea.

Daisy, more absently, stirred her own.

“How’s everything? How have you been doing?” asked Ellie.

Daisy frowned and, initially, stayed quiet.

Ellie waited. She sipped her tea.

“That well, huh?” She eventually added.

“I hate mum.” Daisy muttered.

It wasn’t unexpected, but the veer in conversation still threw Ellie.

“She still being difficult?”

Daisy near glared at her teacup.

“Too focused on Hardy?” suggested Ellie.

Daisy snorted incredulously and shook her head.

“She’s barely left his side.” Daisy finally said. “She’s hooked on every sound, every movement. She’s all Miss attentive, you’d swear she’s a nurse. You should see the way she dotes on Dad, it’s gross.”

Ellie nodded.

“Must be hard.” She said as she blew on her tea. “You still need her attention too; this is difficult for you – “

“I don’t _care_ about that; I don’t _want_ her attention.” Snapped Daisy.

Ah. Ellie had wondered if the rift between them had been mended. There was her answer.

Daisy shook her head with a simmering fury.

“The nerve she has to act like a doting mom, affectionate wife, after _everything_ she did. Fucking sociopath, that’s what she is.” She muttered.

Ellie winced internally.

“She does care about your dad – “

“Well, I want her to _fuck off_ , she doesn’t get to pretend that she’s Miss Perfectly Untouchable. She doesn’t get to love Dad only when he’s near _dead_.” Daisy spat.

  
Her hands trembled around the teacup.

The tension was thick in the air. Ellie regretted never calling the poor girl while Hardy was missing.

She’d been so wrapped up in her own issues, she had barely considered Daisy and how she’d cope while being with her mother.

Ellie, gently, reached out to cup Daisy’s hand.

The girl’s trembling slowed.

“Daisy – “started Ellie.

“You can’t be his caretaker, can you? When he’s released?” asked Daisy softly.

Ellie stopped.

“I…I wish I _could_ , Daisy, but with Fred and Tom – “

“I know. Selfish of me, sorry.” Daisy said with a headshake.

“Oh love, no, it’s not selfish.”

“I just…I don’t want Mum to hurt Dad. Not anymore.” Daisy said as her lip quivered. “I don’t want her caring for him.”

“Your dad wouldn’t let her hurt him.”

“You don’t know Dad, then. He’s a pushover with her.” Daisy rolled her eyes. “Even after everything she did.”

“He cares about her, Daisy.”

“He shouldn’t.”

Ellie bit her lip.

She stirred her tea.

“I’m so sorry, Daiz.” Ellie said softly. “I should’ve called you. I can’t imagine how things have been for you with everything…”

“No, it’s okay.” Said Daisy with a headshake. “I probably wouldn’t have picked up.”

Ellie’s brow furrowed.

“No offense,” Daisy quickly amended. “it’s not you. It’s, um, mum.”

“Your mum wouldn’t like that?”

Daisy crooked her mouth.

Ellie sat back and kept a neutral expression.

“She doesn’t like me?”

“I think she thinks you’re trying to steal me.” Daisy laughed. “Like her, only cares when she’s about to _lose_ someone for good.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed that about Tess.” Noted Ellie.

“She’s good, been good, at looking all clean and professional for other people. Probably why no one guessed it was _her_ fault with Sandbrook. She’s better with people than Dad.” Daisy said with a smoldering anger.

“I see why you wouldn’t want your Dad with her.” Ellie admitted.

Daisy contemplated her tea before she spoke again.

“I’m bringing Dad back to Broadchurch. I’ll supervise his recovery here.” She asserted.

  
Ellie stopped.

“Wha – Daisy, _no_! Love, you do know how much responsibility that is right?” She protested.

“Course I do, I’m not an idiot.” Daisy smirked.

“But it shouldn’t be up to you to care for your Dad.”

“It’s better than Tess caring for him.” Daisy’s smirk vanished.

Ellie sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

“Daisy, really, it’s fantastic that you’re willing to do this, but you’re barely _nineteen_. You should be living your own life, preparing for university, hanging with _friends_.”

“You make it sound like a death sentence, Ellie. This isn’t permanent.”

“It’s still time – “

“Ellie, _please_ , just let me do this!” Daisy protested tearfully. “Dad nearly died out there. He really _should have_ died with everything he went through. And I couldn’t do a bloody thing about it so _please_ don’t stop me.”

The girl buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she wept.

Ellie’s heart broke and she reached for the girl’s arm to gently hold.

“I know how you feel.” She admitted quietly. “But Daiz, you shouldn’t do this alone.”

“I have to.”

“No, you don’t.” Ellie said softly.

Ellie sighed and pushed her mug aside.

“If you’re serious about this, love,” she started.

“I am.”

“then I won’t let you do it alone.” Ellie finished. “If you need anything at all, you tell me right away, okay? I know Hardy won’t appreciate it if I hover, the knob, but I know that this won’t be easy. He’ll have plenty of appointments and therapy – “

“Already all in my phone, with contacts and addresses.” Daisy added proudly.

Ellie smiled warmly.

“Ah, look at you. And I’m over here worrying.”

“Guess good moms do that.” Daisy nodded.

Ellie’s eyes watered.

“Come here.” She said.

  
Daisy stood and accepted Ellie’s hug.

Ellie rocked the girl back and forth, just like she did with Tom and Fred.

She could hear Daisy sniffle and sob.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, love.” Ellie reassured. “It’s tough.”

“Absolutely fucking tough.”

“Might watch the tongue with your dad, but yeah.”

Daisy chuckled.

“You’re being so brave.” Ellie soothed.

“So are you.”

Ellie smiled.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise this isn't an april fools chapter lol

She managed two more visits.

  
On the second visit, Tess and Daisy were present.

Hardy was out of it. The painkillers had been reduced but between the treatments and hospital stay he was still drained.

He responded in short sentences and would give Daisy’s hand squeezes.

Ellie shared little tidbits about Broadchurch, Tom and Fred.

The news about her boys would at least pull a smile.

Otherwise, it was curt and downright polite.

Ellie chalked it up to Tess, whose presence filled the room with such thick tension a knife couldn’t cut through it.

  
At least Tess was friendly enough.

  
The third visit was short.

Hardy was recovering from additional surgery to his leg and another bout of antibiotics.

He slept the whole time.

Ellie refrained from holding his hand, but never left his side.

  
Two more months passed.

  
Finally, the day arrived for Daisy’s plan to come to fruition.

A few forms signed, things packed, Hardy was hustled into Ellie’s car.

One long car ride later, he was finally home.

  
Ellie supported him on one side, Daisy the other.

“Almost home, Dad. Finally, right?” Daisy chirped.

“Home sweet home.” Hardy replied.

Ellie noticed his eyes flitting to the cliffs.

He looked paler, grayer than earlier.

The door was unlocked, and the house’s air flooded forth, stale and cold.

They led Hardy to the couch as Daisy trotted out for the rest of his things.

The color had yet to return to his face.

Ellie, now alone with him once more, the first time with him fully coherent, stood unsure of whether to sit or remain standing.

She tucked her sleeves under her arms.

“Welcome home, sir.” She said.

  
Hardy’s gaze, once fixed distantly upon the telly, snapped to her. His head followed afterwards.

His lips were thinned.

“Thanks E…thanks, Miller.” He said cordially.

  
The response sank like a rock.

She could see, his face was tense.

Every part of his body tried to convey nonchalance, his usual gruff exterior.

  
The new tremor in his hand betrayed it all.

  
She rocked on her heels and sighed.

“It nice? You’re back. Out of that hospital bed finally.” She continued.

Hardy sighed himself and sank into the couch.

“S’nice.” He answered. “Comfier cushions.”

A small smile poked through Ellie’s expression.

“Not much comparison. Don’t know what that configuration was at hospital. Did you _ever_ sleep on the actual mattress?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Thought not.”

“Hmm.”

Ellie’s own lips thinned, and her brow furrowed.

She knew Hardy would change, but this was worse than before.

They weren’t back to square one; they were at square negative twenty.

He was shutting her out.

It made her want to yell, to scream.

…

  
She took a breath; Hardy was most likely overwhelmed too.

He’d just arrived, after all.

A lot to take in for everyone.

  
She glanced at the door left ajar. Daisy had yet to return.

She ran her teeth across her lip.

The silent space was insufferable.

“I-I don’t know, if you remember – “She blurted. “– I visited you, months ago.”

She hadn’t intended that, and her insides burned.

She earned an unreadable look from Hardy.

She bit the inside of her cheek. No going back.

“Don’t know if, uh, you remember anything about it.”

  
There was a pause, a moment of silence.

She tried, desperately, to read her boss, her _friend_.

But if there was anything, it was so little.

He shook his head.

“No.” he answered softly.

Ellie swallowed thickly.

“Right.” She said. “Never mind, then.”

A pair of loud footsteps broke the silence.

Daisy, with a grin, bound back into the house.

“Got the last of ‘em! Think we’re settled!” She announced.

Hardy slowly looked at her and offered a small smile.

“Thanks, Daiz.” He said.

Ellie forced herself to smile and nod her thanks.

  
She made sure he was settled then left soon afterwards.

  
\--

  
She wasn’t sure, but she felt that eventually, the other shoe would drop.

  
The subsequent visits were much of the same: Hardy was distant, friendly if not absent, at times docile and yet others his grumpy self.

He would sometimes light up, mostly when Ellie brought the boys over.

“Duncle Alec!” Freddie had shrieked on the first visit.

Against Ellie’s advice, he’d bowled into Hardy and hugged him as tightly as he could.

Hardy, for his part, seemed delighted and returned the hug.

The tremor was still there, in both his hands.

She couldn’t help noticing it; she is a detective after all.

  
Thus, she kept waiting.

It only took a week.

  
DCI Jenkinson had stopped by her desk in the afternoon.

“Received a call about a possible break-in at the rental units. Think you could check it out? Flint and Parsons are working on the abduction case.”

Ellie nodded.

“Right, be on my way.” She said.

“Careful, they sounded agitated.”

“When are they not, mam?” Ellie smirked.

  
Ellie hated break-in and theft cases, if only because while finding a culprit was one puzzle, the challenge of retrieving the stolen valuables was a whole other issue near impossible in nature. She never liked being the one to inform the distressed and often enraged victims that their valuables, often priceless jewelry and electronics, would be near impossible to track if sold already.

She wasn’t sure if she was lucky that the reverse occurred this time: CCTV and home security were useless in determining a culprit, but the stolen camcorder and jewelry were found in a public bin a few blocks away.

The question of _why_ the thief would chuck their ill-gotten goods would be a mystery for another day.

Upon her return to the station, she was greeted by DI Flint, whose normally composed face seemed unnerved.

“DS Miller.” She said cordially. “Assume the break-in investigation went well?”

“Yeah, well as it can go.” She said suspiciously. “…something up?”

“I simply wanted to ask about your case.”

“No offense mam, but you’ve never asked me about my work.”

“Fair enough.” DI Flint relented. “I need your help.”

Ellie’s brows raised.

“Not on the abduction case – “

“ _No_ , not exactly. Something _related_ to it.” DI Flint said, her pupils not so subtly flitting to her right shoulder.

Ellie peered over and, immediately, groaned.

  
A certain DI’s office lights, for the first time in months, were on.

  
“Don’t tell me…” She sighed.

DI Flint sucked in a sharp breath and raggedly exhaled.

“DS Miller, I have run interrogations with some of the most hardened criminals the crown has been forced to witness.” She said wearily. “But _that man_ has exhausted my abilities.”

“Well, Hardy is on another level, mam. I’ll see what I can do.” Ellie smiled as she passed.

“Good luck.” DI Flint added.

Hardy’s office door was unusually propped open. She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed.

Hardy, sat at his desk, had yet to look up from his computer. His crutches sat propped against a filing cabinet.

“Sir.” Ellie stated.

“Good day to you too, Miller.” He answered.

“You’re going home. _Now_.”

“Feeling hospitable today I see.”

Ellie’s face flared as she shut the door behind her. She marched to Hardy’s side and tugged at his arm.

“Oi, what the hell are you doing??” Hardy started.

“What am I _doing_? I’m taking a stupid knob back home to rest because _apparently_ he forgot he’s on paid leave.” Ellie frowned.

“I’m _fine_. I’ve been gone for months and the paperwork has piled up.” Hardy protested.

“Sod the paperwork! You’re going home.”

“I’m not a bloody invalid, Miller!” Hardy growled.

“And _I’m_ not a bloody twat, sir!” Ellie snapped. “You are going home and resting, or I swear to Christ, I will _beat you with your bloody crutches_ , do you understand?!”

  
The silence was palpable.

Ellie panted, her angered eyes boggled and fixed upon Hardy’s.

As the rage cooled, her detective-self returned.

He was trying to be firm, trying to wordlessly hold his position as a last-ditch effort to reject her request, nay, _command_.

She could see it in the taut of his mouth, the tension in his face.

But his eyes, wide and exposed, and the trembling of his limbs, betrayed something else.

She didn’t have specifics, but she could tell, the knob that he is, that he was holding back.

So, she settled down, and sighed.

“If it’d help, I can gather some files. Low level case work, things that need to be done. Nothing strenuous. But you need to go home.” She said softly. “Need I remind you of what you’d been through.”

“No.” Hardy answered quietly. “No need. I’ll go.”

“Good.” Ellie nodded. “I’ll bring you home.”

“Ach, don’t need that, Miller – “

“I _do_ , because I don’t trust you to not run off again.” She countered.

Hardy bit his lip guiltily.

“Right.” Said Ellie as she assembled a few, scattered case files.

A few robberies, a few vandalisms. She threw in a carjacking for a challenge.

Hardy gathered himself and his crutches. He stood by the door as she finished.

  
Wordlessly, the two left the CID together.

The last thing Ellie did was give DI Flint a reassuring nod.

  
\--

  
They arrived at a darkened, messy house.

Ellie glanced around and looked for a sign of Daisy.

“She went out.” Said Hardy, as if he read her mind. “Groceries.”

“Ah.”

The two walked in together, with Ellie supporting Hardy as they crossed over to the couch covered in blankets and paperwork.

“Sit yourself down. I’ll make us tea, make sure Daisy knows what you’ve been up to.” Ellie tutted.

“M’not a child, Miller.” He grumbled.

“You’re acting like one.” Mumbled Ellie as she strode towards the kitchen.

  
  
She set the kettle on the stove and pulled out two mugs. As she waited for the water to boil, she found her mobile and dialed Daisy’s number.

“ _Ellie?_ ”

“Yeah, it’s me. Daiz, love, are you at the shops still?” said Ellie as she leaned against the counter.

“ _Am, why?_ ”

“Your dad stopped by the station.”

Ellie heard Daisy groan and swear under her breath.

“ _I shouldn’t be surprised. Damnit Dad._ ”

“Old Hardy stubbornness. Was working on some files.”

“ _Course he was. I’m so sorry, was he difficult?_ ”

“No worse than expected. Got him home safe and sound.”

“ _I’ll be right back, just need to pick up –_ “

“Love, it’s alright. I’m here, you go take some time off.”

“ _What? Ellie, you have work a-and honestly I can hurry_ – “

“Daiz, it’s okay. Really. Besides you deserve some time to yourself. Have a little fun, I’ll keep the order in the meantime.”

There was a prolonged silence before Ellie heard her sigh.

“ _Right, yeah. Think that sounds good._ ” Daisy answered. “ _…thank you._ ”

“Not a problem, love. We’ll see you later.” Ellie smiled.

“ _Right. See you._ ”

Ellie hung up and, right on cue, the kettle started to whistle.

She poured out two mugs of tea.

“Hardy? Got the tea. Decaf.” Ellie started.

  
She stopped.

  
Hardy was nowhere to be seen. His crutches were missing too.

“Sir? Hardy?” she asked as she looked about.

Her mind boggled; the man has crutches; how did she not hear him move?

Had he attempted a run to the station?

The mugs clacked against the table as she frantically looked about.

The door to the deck was closed.

“Hardy?” she repeated.

  
There was a crash from the other side of the house.

  
Ellie’s heart leapt into her throat.

“ _Shit_.” She hissed as she ran towards the sound.

She strode through the hallway, ears keened for another noise, another disturbance.

The house was disturbingly quiet.

But there was a low light from under the bedroom door.

She knocked.

“Sir?? Hardy??” She called.

  
No response.

She creaked the door open.

The bed and the rest of the room were unoccupied, but she soon spotted the much brighter light from beneath the bathroom door.

Her anxiety dropped; perhaps Hardy’s crutches had tipped over while he used the loo.

“ _Panicking over nothing I bet_.” She scolded herself.

Still, she needed to check.

She knocked at the bathroom door.

“Hardy? I heard a crash, everything okay in there?”

There was no answer.

Her heartrate spiked.

She chewed her lip and deliberated for half a second before she, carefully, began to open the door.

“Sorry sir, I’m coming in.” She announced.

  
And there he was. It stopped Ellie in her tracks.

  
He was undressed, his clothes in a messy pile by the toilet. His crutches sat upright against the sink.

He was in the tub, devoid of water.

He sat in the tub, curled into a near ball. His forehead was pressed against his knees and his legs were drawn against his chest.

His back pressed into the far corner of the tub, as far away as he could get from the door and the spout.

He had yet to look up.

  
There it was, the other shoe, finally dropped.

Oh, why did it have to be this painful?

She thought she’d be ready for this. She knew that Hardy wouldn’t be himself for some time. People don’t return from situations like his completely unscathed.

She knew.

She knew that what he’d been, that distant docility with tempered gruffness, could be a front. A cloak for something far more volatile.

But she still wasn’t ready.

She sucked in a sharp breath and steadily made her way across the bathroom.

There was part of her that anticipated a rebuke, an irritated glance with some point about how inappropriate this was, and some emphasized comment of how decent people don’t walk in on someone bathing.

Perhaps something close to his reaction when she rifled through the Sandbrook file.

  
She’d rather have that reaction than the silence she did get.

“Hardy?” She asked quietly. “Sir?”

That tremor, the one that’d characterized his return, eclipsed his whole body.

She reached the edge of the tub.

Carefully she lowered herself onto her knees.

She didn’t dare to touch him yet.

“Hardy?” She repeated.

  
Finally, a response.

  
His head moved and she received the barest peek of one eye.

It tightened her throat.

The look in that single eye was a cocktail of so much, too much: a plea, a cry, an apology, yet nothing.

She wondered if he was even seeing her.

  
“Sir,” She said softly, gently. “please, nod if you can hear me?”

There was a hesitation, a pause. But he did nod, ever so slightly.

She nodded back and sat on the bathmat.

“Sir,” She continued. “where are you? Right now?”

His voice was dry. She heard his mouth click as it opened.

“B-Bathroom…” He answered. “Tub.”

“Right. Good.” She said. “What are you seeing?”

A small noise, strangled and weak, gurgled in his throat.

“Don’t know.” He answered as he trembled violently.

“Hardy.” Ellie surged forward and, finally, firmly took his hand.

His shaking ceased. He froze. She could hear a small noise spill forth.

She loosened the squeeze ever so slightly.

“Can you see me?” She asked.

He blinked slowly.

She could see the clarity return to his eyes.

Finally, pupils fixed on her.

He nodded shallowly.

“Yeah.” He said hoarsely. “Can now.”

“Good.” Ellie exhaled. “Thank god.”

  
They went quiet again.

“Heard a crash.” She said. “Thought you might’ve hurt yourself or ran off to the station.”

“Shampoo bottle.” Said Hardy.

Ellie finally spotted the large bottle tipped onto its side. Luckily, no product had spilled on the floor.

“Right, good. At least it was just that.” She nodded.

She spotted how his free hand clamped onto his other arm, how his nails bit into his skin.

Her lips thinned.

“Wanted a bath?” She asked.

Hardy’s gaze travelled to the spout.

“Not initially.”

“Want one now?”

He didn’t answer.

“Should I turn the water on?” She asked.

Hardy’s gaze snapped back to her. The spark of fear ignited in it.

Yet, he assented.

He still held her hand.

  
Ellie reached over, the best she could, and turned the handle.

Warm water flowed into the tub, pooled at the bottom, and tickled Hardy’s toes.

He drew further back and stared warily at the water.

He squeezed her hand tighter.

“Too warm?” she asked, though she knew that wasn’t it.

It seemed to relax him, minutely, as he shook his head.

“N-No. S’fine.”

She felt his shudder as the water finally drew over his ankles.

As the water drew higher, Ellie surveyed Hardy, how he was still curled into a ball.

“ _Headfirst, then._ ” She thought as she grabbed the fallen shampoo.

There was a plastic cup on the rim of the tub, a leftover from when she bathed Freddie that she’d never bothered to put away.

She scooped a cupful of water and leaned over as she finally released Hardy’s hand.

“Eyes covered, please.” She said.

Hardy stared at her with a frown.

“I’m helping you wash, you wanker.”

“I can wash myself.”

“ _And_ grumpy again.” She sighed. “Just thought it might be nice and all. Can’t be fun washing with one leg buggered.”

She awaited the retort but received none.

  
Instead, his expression softened. He nodded and cupped a hand over his eyes.

“Sorry.” He said softly.

She hesitated, swallowed the word, but pressed onwards.

She gently poured the water over his head, soaking his brown hair. She heard a small, restrained cry from Hardy.

“Sir?”

“M’fine. Go ahead.”

Ellie hesitated again, then squeezed a nickel’s worth of shampoo into her hands and scrubbed it into his scalp.

Her fingers carded through his locks and ensured each square inch was cared for and tended to.

Hardy, in response, leaned into her touch, eyes closed and expression more relaxed than she’d seen since he’d been rescued.

His tremor had begun to ebb as she washed the product from his hair.

She squirted conditioner into her hands and proceeded to massage that into his scalp as well.

He dared to open his eyes, and Ellie felt her heart lift at the contentment in his eyes, juxtaposed with his still dour expression.

“Like that?” She asked.

“Mm.” He answered. “…Thank you.”

“Ah, see, not that hard! Surprise how far a please and thank you gets you.” She teased lightly.

That coaxed the smallest smirk from him.

As she ran the conditioner through his hair, he pulled his knees tighter to his chest.

“…I knew I might irk you, going to the station.”

She stilled. A lone soap bubble floated through the air.

She shrugged.

“Wouldn’t say irked. Righteously pissed, worried, sure. Past irked.” She noted.

“I just…I _had_ to.” He admitted with a headshake. “Can’t stand being stuck here.”

“Might relate to that.”

She rinsed the conditioner from his hair as she grabbed a washcloth. She lathered some soap as she craned over to reach his neck and face.

“It’s not there at work. All this. Anything…anything like that. Not there at the station.”

  
She paused. Some soap stuck to his beard.

“I wouldn’t have to think if I was there. Could pretend this never happened. Like things were normal, or…”

He smirked sadly and chuckled.

“…whatever passes for normal anymore.”

Ellie slowly resumed her scrubbing.

“An escape then.” She concluded. “Guess you’re surrounded by…by everything here.”

“You a detective or something?” he smirked.

“A damn good one I’d say.”

“Yeah.” He agreed.

That pulled the smile weaker from Ellie’s face.

“Always been like that. Ignore it, work through it. Never actually _sit_ with it and when I do…”

He paused, his gaze distant, a memory. Another Ellie in his mind, though Ellie wouldn’t know.

“…it’s a problem of mine.”

“Insightful.” Nodded Ellie.

“Had a lot of time to think on the boat.” Mused Hardy.

Ellie didn’t respond. How could you respond to that?

She dipped the washcloth back into the water.

She’d reached his arms.

She treated Hardy’s arm gently, washcloth only scrubbing enough to clean. Her fingers pressed and pulled the knots and tension in his limbs.

She lingered at the discolored spots and ragged scars on his skin.

She gave special attention to those spots, her touch tender and warm even through the cloth.

Hardy didn’t miss it and relaxed as she gently washed his numerous scars.

“Christ.” She hissed as she set one arm down and moved for the other.

Her eyes glistened at the long scar that ran up Hardy’s right arm.

His other arm remained across his chest.

  
She gazed thoughtfully.

“Never did find out what happened.” She started. “On the boat. No specifics anyways.”

She felt him stiffen.

“I-I’m sorry. God, that was shitty of me, you don’t need to – “

“It’s okay.” Said Hardy.

His eyes followed hers to the long scar.

“That wasn’t them.” He said softly. “From an escape attempt. Joe stitched me up.”

Joe’s name formed a stone in her stomach.

“How many times did you try?” She asked.

Hardy thought a moment.

“Three, I think.” He said.

“The bruises, the scars. From the escapes -?”

His eyes fell to the water.

“Mostly no.” He answered.

Her blood chilled.

It froze further with each inch of skin washed, every bruise nursed, and every scar cared for, the thought that this was mostly from calculated attacks for a reason beyond her.

From the man she was once married to, once loved, the father of her children.

Her eyes welled furiously.

“ _Ah_.” Hardy hissed and flinched.

Her eyes widened.

She’d, unconsciously, scrubbed harder.

“S-Sorry.” She stuttered.

“S’fine.”

Ellie slowed. The washcloth slipped from her hand.

“ _No_ , no it’s not.” Muttered Ellie as she furiously wiped at her eyes.

Hardy uncurled, ever so slightly, to reach for her.

“Miller – “

“ _No_! No, I-I’m, _damnit_ , _shit_ , I need to be here for you. You went through all this shite and I’m over here losing it…” She mumbled.

  
She felt Hardy’s hand ghost hers.

“You don’t need to hold back.” He assured.

She gritted her teeth.

“Oh, you fucking knob, what have you been – “She hissed.

She took his hand.

“I investigate this stuff for a fucking living, but I still _don’t get_ …how could someone hurt someone…hurt _you_ like this?” She croaked. “You didn’t deserve this. You _never_ deserved this.”

Hardy’s warm eyes were melting.

“I swear, I won’t let anyone hurt you, hell _touch_ you again. If it’s the last thing I do, I…I…”

“Ellie – “He started.

She furiously wiped a tear from her eye.

He hesitated.

Her hair was a mess, torn loose from her ponytail. She met Hardy’s gaze with a teary look.

She wiped another tear, but they kept coming.

“Shit.” She hissed as she kept attacking the onslaught.

  
Then there was another hand.

  
Hardy had reached over and helped catch some of the rogue tears. His hand, large and rough, yet so soft and kind, brushed against her cheek gently.

She stilled.

Their eyes met.

Her hand raised to cover his.

She could’ve broken into more tears.

  
Instead, she leaned forward, and the two met in the middle.

It was fast, possibly too fast, but neither tried to slow it down.

One of her hands propped her on the edge of the tub, the other cupped Hardy’s cheek.

His hand held the back of her neck and carded fingers through her curls.

He sat up to kiss deeper. The speed pitched.

Ellie noticed this.

“Ha – “She tried to pause during a break, but their lips locked fast again.

Ellie had enough experience to sense what kisses meant, and Hardy’s side felt far more desperate, more urgent, like this was the last time they’d kiss.

It might’ve been reassurance, perhaps to assure her of something, that he was okay.

But that didn’t seem right.

The thought chilled in her mind. These bruises and scars…they were it, right?

“ _What happened on that boat, Hardy?_ ” Ellie wondered as she tried to support herself on the tub’s edge. “ _What else –_ “

  
Her hand slipped.

  
And Ellie went tumbling forward into the tub, into Hardy’s chest. Hardy, for his part, slipped almost inverted into the tub and mercifully just missed banging the back of his head on the tile.

“Shit!” bit Ellie.

“Bloody hell!” groaned Hardy.

Water spilled and splashed everywhere. The bathroom floor turned swampy.

A bottle of Fred’s shampoo tumbled and floated in the remaining bathwater.

A far damper Ellie froze as her body did an internal check and adrenaline pumped through her veins.

She could hear Hardy’s heartbeat.

“God, your suit isn’t dry clean, isn’t it?” asked Hardy.

“It is.” Noted Ellie wearily. “Or was. Old blazer anyways.”

“I like it on you.”

She let a smirk pass.

“You mean _liked_ it. Right ruined now.”

“We work around bodies, Ellie. Think a little water isn’t a problem.”

“I’m soaked! This isn’t a little water!” laughed Ellie.

Hardy laughed as well.

Their position was less than optimal, a tangling of limbs and damp clothing.

Ellie splashed as she tried to lift herself without slipping back onto Hardy and the bathwater.

Hardy’s hands slipped and slid as he tried to drag himself back upright.

Neither were particularly successful.

Ellie paused and wearily sighed. Her hair fell into her face as she looked at Hardy again.

“Might be stuck.” She noted.

“Yer knees still out?” asked Hardy.

“Oh, right. Yeah, that’d be smart.” Ellie said with a grunt of exertion.

She lifted herself and finally gained purchase on dry, non-slippery surface. Hardy too began to regain an upright position.

She pulled herself from the tub, back onto the mostly dry tile.

  
Settled, she realized Hardy was no longer curled into himself.

She realized _why_ he’d curled into himself.

She went white.

  
Hardy followed her gaze first with confusion, then his own face drained of color.

He curled back into himself, but it was too late; she’d seen everything.

His arms no longer tried to hide the top portions of the scars, the _big_ scars.

Instead, they were posted to his sides, a weak grip on the solid existence of the tub.

His eyes were wide with fear and a silent plea.

  
Ellie, for her part, couldn’t react.

She was still processing _what she’d seen_.

Two words carved into Hardy’s flesh, pinkish white and raised despite months of healing.

_LIAR_

_PIG_

A sound that might’ve been a word, might’ve not, tumbled from Ellie’s lips, a lame attempt to provide any comment on the sight she’d seen.

Whatever it was, Hardy responded, or at least his eyes did. His pupils had nearly vanished.

“Ellie…” He uttered near inaudibly.

The tremor had returned tenfold. It overtook his body and threatened to slam him against the porcelain tub.

His eyes were slightly unfocused, as if lost in something in his mind.

He reached desperately for her.

  
Ellie, however, was shattering.

The questions and rage flooded her mind, same as before but of greater intensity.

_Joe you fucking monster, how could you how could you have done this, or was it your sick friend did he do this, no I know it was you and HOW could you how could you how could you you sick freak what did you do to him HOW_

Her face was drained of color. It was her turn to tremble.

The touch of Hardy’s fingertips, light as they were, sizzled like lightning.

She instinctually flinched away.

It was too much.

  
But she saw the heartbreak in Hardy’s eyes, how he visibly retracted, the desperation that flooded his eyes.

She could see his hands fly into his hair as his knees knocked together and his nails dug deep.

She could see him fight something she couldn’t see.

She needed to pull herself together, but she was falling apart.

Hardy _needed_ her but _she_ needed her too.

She needed to say something. She _had_ to say something.

But her face was strained lines.

The image, the concept, of Joe inflicting this level of damage to someone she loved, was at the forefront.

She _must_ put it aside.

But she can’t put it aside.

The rage boiled and burned. Furious tears streamed down her face.

  
“E – “Hardy eked out despairingly.

“I’m sorry.” Was all Ellie could eke out before she bolted out the bathroom.

Furious gasps and grieving tears flooded her face as she tumbled back into the bedroom.

Her hands scrambled and searched until they found a decorative pillow she never used.

Fingers clenched; she threw her face into its soft fabric.

  
And she _screamed_.

  
She screamed endless obscenities, endless curses, endless tirades into the muffled surface. Every dark desire, every vengeful thought, spilled out of her like a waterfall.

Screams ebbed into tearful cries, weeping and bawling, before crawling back into angry cursing and empty threats of tearing Joe limb from limb or beating his skull in with a PC’s baton or strangling him until his face turned bruised and purple.

All the while, her body shook. Nausea churned in her stomach and, soon, she’d screamed herself nearly hoarse.

As the words ran dry and the rage subsided, Ellie was left with nothing but dull exhaustion and the remnants of panicking shivers that ravaged through her body.

The pillow fell to the floor and she, once more, was racked with silent sobbing.

She curled into herself, forehead to her knees, as she rocked herself shallowly.

Her breathing broke into short gasps and hiccups, nose thick and sniffly.

\--

She’d seen them.

  
She’d seen _them_.

  
She knows.

  
_How could you expect that she’d_ never _see them?_

“ _I don’t know_.”

Heartbeat spiked, pulsed in his ears. Tears started to swell.

He needed to do something, but his body was on lockdown.

Seemed the only thing it _could_ do was tremble.

_She sees them, she sees them, she sees them._

_Joe’s right._

_She’s disgusted by them_.

  
That couldn’t be true.

Those thoughts weren’t true.

He tried to pull them from his mind, but they flowed faster.

_Disgusted, disgusted, disgusted, disgusted_

_Horrified, horrified, sickened, sickened_

_By YOU_

“ _SHE’S RIGHT THERE I CAN PROVE YOU’RE WRONG._ ”

  
He reached.

She pulled away.

Said something.

_  
Ran_.

  
“ _No_ …”

  
Out she went through the doorway.

  
In _he_ came.

The bathwater splashed at his jeans.

Hardy panted, stared, eyes wide, at him.

“You’re not real…” He muttered.

Joe crossed his arms.

“Does it matter? All that matters is _this_ is real.” He answered as he gestured to the room.

Hardy shook his head.

“You’re _not_ real.”

Joe tsk’d.

“You really lost it, haven’t you?” Joe asked with a headshake. “Talking to people who can’t be there…”

“Shut up.”

“She’s _gone_ , Hardy. Just accept it. _I_ had to.” Joe spat bitterly.

“S-She isn’t…she’s not _like that_ …”

“Then why are you even talking to me, if you believe that _so much_?” Joe mocked with a look.

  
Sweat pooled on Hardy’s face.

He looked down.

Blood ran cold.

_PIG, LIAR, BASTARD, PIG, LIAR, BASTARD, WORTHLESS, USELESS, PATHETIC_

Across his arms, legs, torso, face.

Carved.

  
“You know it, Hardy. In the end, _I win_. I can’t have El, and _neither will you_. And you know exactly why.”

Hardy backed against the wall.

“Because you’re worthless, a waste of space. El won’t love you because you’ll do nothing but _drag her down_.”

The tub water rose.

“You know it, Hardy. You’ve _always known_. In the end – “

It lapped at his lips. It tasted salty.

Short gasps, shallow. Vision murky. The room around him cracked.

He fell through.

“– you’re alone.”

  
\--

In the silence, she finally heard it: the keening cry and shudders from the bathroom.

She stiffened.

“Oh _fuck_ …” She exhaled. “…damnit Ellie.”

She wiped her face clear and stumbled back into the bathroom.

  
She splashed across the soggy floor and slid to the tub’s side.

Oh god, it was worse than she thought.

Hardy was frozen, petrified in the corner of the tub.

His eyes were fixed low, one hand gripped at his hair, the other clawed at his cheek.

Tears rolled endlessly down his face.

His back rose and fell in short, _too_ short, intervals.

“Oh shit, _Alec_ …” She gasped.

  
Cold bathwater sloshed as she rushed for his hands. She tried in vain to pry them from himself.

“Alec! I-It’s okay, you’re okay. I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left…”

All she could hear was his gasps.

“Hardy? Please, you have to come back…”

His breath wheezed.

“Alec!” She cried.

All at once, his pupils snapped up.

He shook, shuddered, and clarity returned.

He blinked, too many times. He searched her.

She gasped in relief.

“Oh, thank god. Okay, I’m here, I’m here I promise I won’t leave…won’t leave _again_ …shit, this is my fault…” Ellie first assured, then muttered furiously.

“You’re here.” He gasped. “You came back.”

Ellie met his gaze again. She sucked in long, calming breaths.

“Of course.” She said softly. Her thumb swept away a tear. “Won’t leave you, you…you knob.”

  
She shuddered a weak laugh.

He stared, breath settling.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, Alec. I-I left you, I fucking…I fell apart and you still _need me_. I left you in the tub with the, shit, the freezing _water_ …”

“You came back.”

Her rambling stopped short.

“Hardy, of course I came back. What else would I do? Leave you here?” She asked, not annoyed, but more confused.

Hardy thickly swallowed but said nothing.

He took one of her lingering hands and pressed it against his cheek.

He shivered again.

  
Ellie, for her part, remained quiet as well.

Her lips thinned; a flicker of pain crossed her face.

She reached over and pulled out the plug.

“Come here.” She said gently.

Slowly, she eased Hardy out of the tub and onto the bathmat.

She tucked a towel around him.

The two sat on the soaked bathmat as the tub gurgled noisily behind them.

Ellie sat, knees tucked behind her, one hand perched on her knee.

A stray hair fell into her face.

“I won’t leave you.” She asserted finally. “Won’t. Not like that.”

Her fingers twisted around a thread.

“Don’t know what Joe…what Joe _did_ , but he’s lying. Sorry to say, sir, but you’re stuck with me.”

Hardy didn’t answer.

She looked up at him carefully, eyes filled with hurt.

“That’s what all that’s for, isn’t it? His sick little game, some shite thing to, what, make me hate you?”

“Want nothing to do with me.” Hardy near whispered.

“ _Christ_.” Hissed Ellie, her hand balled into a fist. “I swear, if anyone lets me near him…no, near that _thing_ , he’s not human, I’ll gut him. I swear. Don’t care. Sure someone will back me up.”

Hardy pulled his knees to his chest, the towel tighter.

Her rage faded.

“…you thought he was right.” She said softly.

  
Hardy’s face sharply tensed.

“I mess up enough as it is. Can you blame me?” asked Hardy grimly. “Can’t get things right on a normal day. Haven’t got a filter, spill my guts to you, tell you I _loved you_ …right, after being kidnapped for a week?? Thought that’d go well, real _smart_ Hardy, just fucking scare her, think that’d be obvious?? To anyone else, but not to _stupid_ Hardy!”

“Alec – “

“Christ, Ellie, you have to know I wasn’t a picnic to be with before this shite, but now?? I panic over a bloody _bath_. And these…these fucking _scars_ are icing on the sundae, aren’t they?? Just a broken wreck and I can’t let you _deal_ with that – “

“ _Alec_ – “

“– because you deserve better, Ellie! Shit, the _things_ you’ve had to deal with, no person should _ever_ have to handle and there’s no way in hell I’m gonna _force you_ to deal with my – “

“Oh, for god’s sake, Hardy, _that’s enough_!”

Hardy’s mouth snapped shut. His eyes began watering again.

Hers might’ve been too.

“You keep…you keep _believing_ you’re a goddamn burden to everyone. To _me_. Ever think I _know_ that you’re a mess? Guess what? I am too! We’re both two bloody messes and we’re right fucked up…and if I _have_ to be fucked up…rather be with someone who at least _understands_.”

Ellie panted, gazed at Hardy. She wiped her eyes.

“And you’re right, I was scared then, but I’m not letting myself now. You’re not forcing me to do _anything_ , Alec Hardy. I _want_ to be here with you, through this mess and whatever the hell comes next. And you know why?”

She swallowed; her face strained on the edge of tears.

“Because, damnit, I love you. You bloody martyr, I love you and I won’t let you keep doing this to yourself. I won’t let _either_ of us do this alone.”

She brushed more tears away.

“Not again.” Her voice edged towards a whisper.

  
Hardy, for his part, sat back. The blow of the words was painted across his face.

Their eyes remained fixed on each other.

The tub finally went silent.

He loosened his grip on the towel.

Reached for her instead.

He cupped just below her jaw; his thumb set to help wipe away the remaining tears.

He could feel the fine hairs at the back of her neck, wispy and soft.

She kissed his palm.

The two closed in, gap between them vanishing.

There was some fumbling, the towel just barely clinging to Hardy’s shoulders.

His hand went to the back of her neck; hers to his side.

His fingers tangled in her curls; her other hand ghosted the scar between his shoulder blades.

Their noses brushed.

Their lips connected.

  
It was a proper kiss, not desperate like the first, yet it said just as much.

_Bit nervous._

_Me too._

_We’re gonna annoy each other._

_Would you like it otherwise?_

_Been so long._

_I know._

_Glad it’s with you._

_I’ve wanted this for a long time._

_I might’ve too._

_I love you._

_I love you too._

_  
_And when they parted, they sat there together for some time.

Neither budged, neither made a start to move, even as the warmth of the room cooled.

They just sat there, together, entwined in each other’s arms.

Comfortable. Safe.

That was all they needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so imo this chap could've been better but same time couldn't think how to improve it/change it so hopefully still enjoyable lol
> 
> almost there! one chap left, thanks to everyone who's been reading up to now!!!!!!!


	21. Chapter 21

For Hardy, business wear had always been his preferred clothing.

One would be hard-pressed to think of a time where he wasn’t dressed in a button-up shirt and jacket, navy tie possibly askew either from the wind or stress.

The closest, other than his jams, he ever got to comfort wear was likely his sweater and even that still qualified as somewhat dressy.

  
Course, with his recovery and healing, he’d been forbidden from wearing his usual garb.

At first, he’d been uncomfortable dressing in loose t-shirts and sweats.

Perhaps there was an unconscious portion of himself that thought, even if they were wrinkled and cheap, that at least his dress shirts and jackets prevented his outside from mirroring how he felt most days, something the sweats and t-shirts unfortunately complimented.

  
But now, something had changed.

  
He stood in front of his bathroom mirror and dutifully tied his one, nicer quality tie: a gift from Tess, still navy but with a small, tasteful pattern.

He folded down his collar and stared, just stared, at the reflection.

He’d gained back some weight. His skin regained its color. His hair was trimmed, and his beard was groomed.

Any remaining evidence of his time on the boat was covered by his clothes.

  
Logically, at least.

He blinked and, for a split second, he saw the image of himself, captured by Joe’s sickening photography.

Bones visible through grayed skin, sallow cheeks and darkened eyes.

Countless bruises, wounds, welts.

Carved words, dripping sea water, and so much _blood_.

  
…

  
At some point, he’d gained a death grip on the counter.

It was a hot moment for him to realize this.

He sighed raggedly and shook his head.

  
A polite knock rapped against the door.

“You decent?” asked Ellie.

  
“…yeah.” He slowly responded.

  
The door creaked open and Ellie stepped in.

  
Ellie stepped in, dressed in a nice navy blouse and slacks. Her hair was tied up. She wore light makeup. He could see her blazer laid out on the bed.

To anyone else, it was nothing fancy or even out of the ordinary.

To Hardy, he felt honored to see her like this.

“Look nice.” He stammered dumbly.

“So, do you.” Ellie replied as she strolled to his side. “Have I seen that tie before? Looks fancy.”

“Ah, might’ve.” Shrugged Hardy as he played with the knot. “Don’t wear it much. Just special occasions. Or court.”

“Wish it were the former.” Noted Ellie wistfully as she touched up her mascara.

Hardy scrunched his nose as he watched.

“What??” frowned Ellie.

“I’ve _never_ understood it. How you can do that.”

“Do what?”

Hardy gestured to the wand.

“Get that _thing_ near yer eye. Yer bringing a bloody _mace_ to your eye, you know that?”

“Oh, you’re being dramatic.” Tutted Ellie.

“I’d panic bout poking my eye out.” Mumbled Hardy.

“You’ve been married before. You have a daughter. Yet you still freak out over makeup.” Ellie smirked.

“I’m _not_ freaking out. I can _appreciate_ the eye…the mascara.” He corrected. “But the implements are medieval.”

“Not. Now don’t distract me or I _will_ poke out my eye.” Ellie said.

  
Their routines went along as usual. Hardy passed the toothpaste to Ellie as they both brushed their teeth.

Stood side by side, each flanking the sink, it was painfully domestic.

Hardy wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ellie spat out her toothpaste and glanced carefully at him.

“How’re you feeling? Bout today?” She asked quietly.

Hardy stilled, almost choked on the toothpaste.

He spat, sucked in a breath, and sighed.

“Bout as good as you’d expect.” He answered. “But knew it was coming. M’fine.”

He tugged at the knot of his tie.

Ellie’s hands replaced his own.

“Are you?”

He frowned as she adjusted his tie.

“Does it matter if I’m not?”

“ _Yes_.” Ellie replied with a sharp tug.

“Ach, careful! Don’t want to be strangled.”

“I’m choking the martyrdom out of you.” She mumbled.

Hardy nodded thoughtfully.

“Suppose threatening someone is one solution…”

“Oi, don’t start. Still got my hands on the knot you know.” Ellie smirked.

“Killed by my partner. What a way to go.” Hardy mused with his own smirk.

Ellie’s smirk faded at the remark. Her hands slipped down to his chest.

“You think he’ll try again? Plead not guilty?” She pondered quietly.

Hardy’s smirk vanished, replaced by a grim look.

He thought a moment and sighed.

“Could. Did before, even when we thought it’d be straightforward. The prosecution’s case is airtight though. Not sure if his team _could_ muster a case for him, with all the evidence there is.”

He stared at a distant corner.

“But without Mackie there…could argue he was a hostage too.”

“Yeah but let him try explaining how _you_ got the lion’s share of the torture.” Ellie growled.

He kissed her forehead.

“I’m not known for being easy to handle, Miller.”

“So, what? Jury would believe you’re _stupid_? Enough to provoke Mackie and nearly get killed?”

“Might’ve provoked them to escape, so…”

“ _Stop_.” Ellie hissed; her fingers curled around his lapels. “Just, oh god, just stop. Don’t want to even _entertain_ this.”

“It won’t be you on the bench.” Hardy reassured.

“As if that makes it better.”

“Better me than you.”

“Is it?”

  
Truth be told, Hardy wasn’t sure.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought through the what-ifs, especially with Joe’s previous history with appealing his charges. It seemed inevitable that Joe would plead not guilty, though Hardy could never figure out the _how_ or _why_.

Well, the why could be chalked up to Joe’s character.

The how was foggy; each time he’d try to run through scenarios, his thoughts would trail in a different direction.

Namely, the concept of him on the bench, testifying to the court about his experiences, arguing with a defense team that would try to discredit his whole story on small details and inconsistencies.

Just like with Danny.

As much as he knew he was a mess, broken in most senses of the word, against all odds he still had a sense of pride.

As much as people viewed him as a grumpy bastard, he begrudgingly knew it wasn’t true.

The thought of testifying sat like a stone.

Standing before countless pairs of eyes as he lays out every piece of sordid evidence in graphic detail.

The starvation, the beating, the humiliation, the _drowning_ , the _mutilation_ , the _whipping_.

Every piece of his nightmares laid out on display to be ripped apart, with it him too.

The defense picking apart small details, down to minutes passed and fibers of carpet, to cast doubt on his testimony.

The jury listening to said response, absorbing it as if the photos of his battered body weren’t _projected_ for their viewing pleasure.

As if, somehow, Hardy himself wasn’t evidence enough.

And Joe could slip away, _again_.

To do…what?

  
“ _Alec_.”

Hardy blinked. There was a warm hand at his cheek, cupped gently.

Compared to it, he felt so very, very cold.

His lungs burned; he took a sharp breath in, exhaled.

He must’ve stopped breathing.

Collecting himself, he finally saw Ellie.

Her other hand cupped his face.

“You disappeared.” She noted softly.

He swallowed.

“Sorry.”

“No…here.”

She pulled him close, into a hug.

He wrapped his arms around her, breathed in the scent of her shampoo.

It was a different brand; he missed the other.

  
“I’ll be with you.” She said.

“Thought we weren’t sitting together.”

“No, not – you knob, I know that. I mean _emotionally_. In mind. With you like that. And afterwards, _physically_ too.”

She gave him a squeeze.

“Rather though we _could_ sit together.”

“Too risky.”

“I know.” She sighed. “Oh god, just have him plead guilty.”

Hardy nodded and pressed a kiss against her neck.

  
They gathered themselves, did one last check on their appearances. After they ran through the rules with the childminder, they were on their way.

  
  
\--

By sheer coincidence, they were in the same courtroom, the same that held Joe’s first trial what felt like a lifetime ago.

  
As a detective inspector, of course Hardy had witnessed multiple criminal trials of varying success. He’d been called as an expert witness and as a member of the prosecution.

  
He’d never been the victim.

He’d never been like this, flanked at both sides by the investigation’s leads, a protective barrier against something invisible yet tangible, maybe even the room itself.

He’d never felt so crowded yet so alone.

  
He pulled at his collar, starched and itchy, and dared a glance around the room.

DI Flint’s gaze flitted to him in a quick check. Her hands were folded together carefully.

DS Parsons seemed restless, despite looking more put together. He ran a hand through his moussed hair.

He found Ellie, despite knowing better than to make eye contact.

She sat as far as possible from him, several rows up, next to his daughter. She kept her gaze fixed ahead.

  
Neither could dare looking at each other. Not after the Latimer case.

They couldn’t chance Joe slipping away again.

  
Oh, how he wanted to see her, though. Just one person, one of the few people he felt completely comfortable with.

  
Maybe the anticipation would be more tolerable then.

  
Maybe.

The judge entered and the court rose. She read the opening statements and called for the defendant.

“We shall now hear from Mr. Joseph Miller.” She noted.

The door to the glass box opened. First walked in a guard, tall and stern.

Another guard followed.

Then, Hardy heard the rattle of cuffs.

  
His blood chilled.

  
Every instance of seeing Joe, Hardy’s mind would flit to that first encounter, the dinner at Ellie’s home. He must’ve run through it thousands of times by now.

Had he been so inhuman back then? Shouldn’t it have been obvious? Shouldn’t a _detective_ have sensed something monstrous running behind that paternal and decent façade?

Especially with how Joe seemed now, it should’ve been clear as crystal.

His skin was clean, free of blemishes and scars.

Despite the months in prison, he looked healthy.

Well.

It boiled something in Hardy’s stomach, the one still raked and carved by _that man’s_ hands.

Joe’s walk was calm, steady, and he sat with little rattling or fear.

Was he really that collected? Did he know something?

Perhaps he’d made his mind up, but what?

A not guilty verdict?

Another drawn out trial, another show to drag so many lives through the mud.

Break what remained unbroken, Joe would have the last laugh.

No matter what verdict was read.

  
There was a hand on his shoulder; Hardy nearly reeled.

It was just DS Parsons.

The DS gave him a concerned look.

“M’fine.” Hardy mouthed.

His mouth, however, had gone sandy dry.

  
The judge called for the court to rise. She organized her papers and read off the charges of one Mr. Joseph Miller:

“Battery, assault, kidnapping of a law enforcement agent, false imprisonment, use of marine transport to commit a crime, crossing international waters to commit a crime, torture, and accessory to all the previously stated crimes.”

Joe grayed. For the first time, a flicker of familiar cowardice crossed his face.

But it soon extinguished.

What remained was cold.

The judge read further statements, details of the crimes. All the while, Joe’s gaze never deviated from the judge, not even to search for Ellie.

Hardy wished he could say the same.

Being in the same room, even separated by glass, with Joe, set every nerve of his on edge.

It took every piece of him not to search out Daisy or Ellie.

“ _This isn’t the boat._ ” Hardy thought firmly. “ _He’s not in charge. He’s in a box. Trapped animal in a box._ _I’m stronger than him._ ”

But Joe’s focus broke, and his gaze flitted to Hardy.

  
All pretense went out the window, and Hardy loathed every inch of him that turned to ice.

The gaze, the look, the same one that levelled him as he destroyed every ounce of dignity he had and wrecked his already battered body.

It was a look that knew _exactly_ what mere eye contact must be doing to Hardy.

It was just a look, nothing more. Not even a shift in expression.

But that was all it needed to be.

Hardy ground his teeth together, face taut with tension. He forced himself to look nonplussed, even as his insides wanted to collapse and his body tried to betray him with a shiver.

More than that, however, he forced himself not to look for Ellie.

  
“How do you plead to the stated charges, Joseph Miller?” asked the judge.

Joe’s gaze finally left Hardy and returned to the judge. He visibly swallowed, and his shoulders stiffened.

  
The whole room tensed, the air thick and cold.

Hardy’s eyes shut. He awaited the two words.

  
“Guilty.”

  
Hardy’s eyes flew open.

The thickened air was sucked out of the room.

“You plead guilty, Mr. Miller?” reiterated the judge.

Hardy’s heart shifted into overdrive.

“Yes, your honor. I do.” Repeated Joe.

Hardy finally looked up, but the room was disconcertingly blurry.

The rest was a blur. The judge most likely read out the itinerary, a follow-up trial to determine the length of his sentencing, presumably a life sentence, and the conditions of Joe’s imprisonment until then.

Hardy processed nothing.

  
In what felt like minutes, he was out of the court room.

Hands were shaking his. Outside the courthouse, camera bulbs flashed from the skulking reporters.

DI Flint and DS Parsons remained vigilantly at his side, hands on his shoulders.

So many hands.

Voices echoed in his ears, discussions of the hearing, of Joe, of _him_.

His heartbeat mixed with the voices.

“DI Hardy? Are you alright?” DI Flint asked, almost underwater.

_Alright. Alright. Right?_

“’Na use the loo.” Hardy figured he mumbled.

  
He stumbled off, away from the crowd, away from the noise and the courtroom and the people and the _everything_.

Out of sight, out of earshot, alone at last with the loo’s doors for company.

He collapsed to the floor.

He lay slumped against the wall, throat constricted and his heart ever-thumping in his head, and didn’t it mix so _lovely_ with the jumbled thoughts in his mind?

“ _It’s over. It’s over. It’s over._ ” He tried to think.

Because it was.

Someone should tell his body that.

There was someone at his side.

Hands again at his shoulder, but these were different. Familiar.

Ellie…or shit, was Not-Ellie back?

No, the hands were too nervous. Too desperate.

Too real.

Ellie was pawing at his coat pockets.

“Where are your pills??”

He must’ve responded because Ellie pulled two, chalky pills out and fed them to him.

  
He swallowed them dry.

  
She was on the floor with him.

She was brushing his hair from his face, his whitened face.

She looked disturbingly worried.

“S’it a heart attack, Alec?” She asked.

It took him a hot second to respond, a shake of the head.

Her hand slipped to his arm.

“Right.” She said, hushed.

Tactics changed.

She went quiet, did nothing else.

Just sat with him.

“S’over.” Hardy finally breathed.

Ellie nodded.

“It is.”

Hardy wavered.

“It’s done.”

“Yeah.”

He chewed on his lip.

“Won’t hurt you -”

“Or _you_.”

“-ever again.”

Ellie nodded again, her own gaze growing distant.

“We’re free.” She noted. “Finally.”

  
Hardy’s hands shook as he forced himself to stand.

“Hardy?”

“Let’s get out of here, Miller.” He said. “I’m sick of this place.”

She nodded.

“Feel the same, truthfully.”

“Sick of _him_.”

“God yeah.”

“I need a drink.”

“Know a pub on the way home.”

They never made it to the pub.

On the drive over, Hardy’s pent emotions snapped.

So did Ellie’s.

Pulled over on the side of the road, they sat there together, absorbing it all.

Shaking.

Cursing.

Crying.

Consoling.

  
They settled for leftover gin at Ellie’s house.

  
\--

Spring might’ve been around the corner, but the air was still cold.

  
Especially at where things always seemed to end: their bench.

Hardy huddled into his wool coat, braced against the relentless coastal wind.

Salt wove itself through his hair and breached his scarf, the one he dipped his nose under.

He shivered.

He focused ahead, towards the sandy shore.

He focused on the kids instead of the surrounding ocean.

  
Daisy sat on the beach, dressed inadequately for the nippy chill (he’d pestered her to bring a coat; she said she’d be fine), and helped Freddie with his sandcastle.

Tom was with his mates, running an impromptu race across the sand.

They were all carefree and so happy.

  
Hardy should’ve been focusing on that.

Instead, however, he couldn’t help but stare down the encroaching shore.

Each time a wave slapped against the sand; his heart leapt into gear.

As if the ocean itself would reach out, yank the trio under.

And, inevitably, the waters would leave them alone.

And, inevitably, Hardy would sink back, against the bench and into himself.

“ _S’fine. They’re fine. They’re_ always _fine. You worrying sod._ ”

He frowned and bundled tighter.

  
A takeaway cup was thrust in front of him.

“Got you one.” Said Ellie as she sat next to him.

Hardy accepted the cup and took a whiff.

The sweet aroma of chocolate invaded his senses.

“I can’t drink this.” He mumbled.

“Course you can. Good for you.”

“In what universe is hot chocolate _good_ for you, Miller?”

“Good for the soul, Hardy. Now stop winging. One cup won’t kill you.” Said Ellie as she drank.

Hardy scrunched his nose and took a small sip.

  
As he thought, it was sickeningly sweet.

But it also cut through the loop of thoughts.

So, overall, still welcome enough.

He took another sip.

  
Ellie set down her cup and scooched closer.

“She’s a natural with Freddie.” She noted. “Does Daisy babysit?”

Hardy nodded.

“Did a little back in Sandbrook. Used to look after the neighbor’s kids, ‘til they turned ten.”

“Impressive. And she was -?”

“Bout thirteen.”

“Responsible.”

“Always a good kid.” He said with a small smile.

  
Another wave splashed the sand.

  
Hardy visibly tensed until it pulled away.

  
Her hand took his.

“They’ll be okay.” She said gently. “Tom has swim lessons. Plus, they’re far off. High tide’s not for a few hours.”

“I know.” Hardy grumbled.

He took a gulp of hot chocolate.

“Thought you were worrying.”

“M’ _not_.”

“Face says otherwise.”

“Oh, shut up, Miller.” Hardy snapped.

Ellie retracted; Hardy immediately regretted.

“Sorry.” He said.

Ellie’s lips drew to a thin line.

“I really am.”

“I know, Hardy.” She sighed. “But you’ve been snippy all week.”

Her eyes rolled up as she sipped her drink.

“Last few weeks, actually. It’s not fair to anyone, specially not the kids.”

Hardy grunted guiltily.

“So, talk it out. You agreed that we’d do things together now.”

“Still not used to that.” He admitted.

“Time to get used to it.” She said softly.

  
His eyes fell to the shore, towards the foaming waves and churning water.

It splashed and sprayed salt.

He crooked his mouth.

Not that. Not yet.

“The trial.” He started. “Been thinking about that.”

Ellie nodded.

“I just don’t understand it. He plead _guilty_.”

“Guess he knew he’d been caught.”

“Didn’t stop him from last time.”

“Right…didn’t want to try his luck?”

He gave her a look.

“I know as much as you do.” Shrugged Ellie.

He frowned.

“And, what, you’re just _accepting_ it? I’d think you of all people would be wondering too, just, _why_.”

“I _am_ , Hardy. I bloody am, course I am.” She fumed. “But I decided that I’m going to take what we’ve been given. For now. Because I’m _tired_. I’m tired of worrying and just need a bloody break.”

She glanced at the kids.

“And I just want to enjoy _this_ for a moment.”

  
Hardy’s own gaze flitted to the beach, to their kids.

_Their_ kids.

His expression fell.

“Wish I could.” He said softly.

  
He took her hand again.

“I can’t help but think he’s playing with us. I, erg, I just _feel_ that something else is going to happen. I _saw_ a different Joe on that boat, and I don’t think…don’t think he’d just – “

“-let you go.”

Hardy pursed his lips.

She squeezed his hand.

“Yeah.” She said. “I know. I-I mean, I _don’t_ , but I can…relate.”

“Course. After the Latimer trial.”

She nodded.

“Worried the same for Tom and Fred.”

“Would’ve done everything I could if he did come for them.”

“And I’d do the same for _you_ now.” She said. “Please believe me.”

“I do.” He said as he drew close. “Believe me, I do.”

  
They shared a slow, soft kiss.

  
“I love you.” He said. “So _much_.”

“I do too.” She said, then smirked. “You _sop_.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Shush.” He kissed her again. “Let’s _enjoy_ this moment.”

“Oi, don’t throw my advice back at me!”

  
She gave a playful punch to his arm before they kissed once more.

  
Seagulls cried overhead and soared through the cold air.

Salt-tinged droplets clung to everything the breeze hit.

Debris and rubbish mixed with the collected kelp and rocks.

Kids and beachcombers frolicked despite the nip.

A game of football broke out near the walking path.

  
And two detectives sat, exhausted but together, hand in hand, on their bench by the cliffside.

Relaxed against one another, eyes on their children, they kept vigil.

  
And for the first time in so long, they were happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> annnnnnd we've finally reached the end! thank u thank u thank u for all the support n comments over the last months, im so glad u all enjoyed this story so much!
> 
> stay safe and take care of urselves!!!


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